through the fire and flames
by carry me home tonight
Summary: Massie Block and Chris Plovert come from two different sides of the social spectrum. They were never destined to meet. When they do - in therapy, no less - it becomes evident extremely fast that they're the answer to each other's prayers. M/P. Strong T.
1. one

_I want to explain to everyone that I have the mind of a four year old. I can barely stick with one story and when I'm hit with inspiration, I write and I write and I kind of suck because then I lose that inspiration and I'm stuck with a half-completed story that I end up hating. It's a cycle. _

_But this hit me when I had the plotbunny months ago. October, really. And it was actually Derrick's point of view, but Chris fit the mold so much better and let me tell you how much I've fallen in love with him just by writing him this way. _

_I promise that this won't suck. I've already compiled a list of songs that will make this story up and the first is mentioned below. I'll eventually make a playlist on 8tracks when I finish finding them all. _

—

_Skinny Love_, Bon Iver

—

"How do you feel today?"

"It's raining," he says. And it is. The droplets of water are hitting the window he's sitting next to and he watches them in fascination as they slip and slide and dive and _fall_ down the glass. He remembers when he used to think they were racing with each other; whoever got to the bottom first wins. Whenever he was in the car, he'd cheer them on and time would fly and the car ride would be over before he could even think about uttering _are we there yet_? Now he sees them again, and they kind of look… pathetic.

Dr. Loni adjusts his glasses. "Big storm. Supposed to come up from Florida."

"Hurricane?"

"Aftermath." He knows his therapist is only humoring him, but there's not much he can do. "_Chris_," he insists. "How do you feel today?"

His eyes never leave the window, trained on the storm clouds and rain and the melancholy feeling of the world outside. "Fine."

"Fine?" Dr. Loni repeats, scribbling something on his notepad. Chris can only imagine what it says – _pathological liar_, _bad with feelings_, _isolated_. He really likes to think he's none of those things, but he knows he is – he just puts up a front. He's surprised it's held up this long; not many people can see through him. "I know you're not."

"You don't know anything," Chris bites back.

"I know enough about you to know that you're not as fine as you say you are."

"Weren't you the one who said therapy doesn't work?"

"Well, yes." He pauses. "But that doesn't –"

"Then why are you pushing me?" Chris can feel the sting behind his eyes. He blinks, eyelids shut tightly. If there's one thing that Chris Plovert does not do, it's cry. He'll be damned if he let himself shed tears for anything. Even this.

Dr. Loni sighs. "I'm not pushing you, Chris. I'm just trying to understand."

"I don't – you won't understand." For the first time, he looks over at the older man. Dr. Loni is nothing but a scrawny, middle-aged man with a beard that doesn't suit his face. He always looks like he's scrutinizing everything, even the way fruit are placed in a bowl, and he most likely is. "Today is probably the worst day of my life."

Chris doesn't want him to force him to say any more. Those nine words were a stretch, even for someone who's been in this office for nine years. But he knows deep down that there are more questions for him to answer; the clock hasn't struck yet. He still has a little more than a half hour left.

"And what's today's date?"

He asks this question every year.

And every year, Chris wants to get up and leave. Dr. Loni's full of shit, he thinks, because he damn well knows what the date is. Everyone in the country knows what day it is. Everyone with a fucking calendar knows what day it is.

"December twenty-fourth."

Christmas Eve. The day Chris' life practically ended – no. The day it _did _end. Nothing's ever been the same since then.

His family's been torn to shreds. His father moved out on them two years after it happened, sent them an invite to his wedding (out of spite, Chris likes to think, because his dad's a coldhearted bitch), and conceived two beautiful, _perfect _children – two beautiful, perfect, very much alive children. His mother works two jobs and she might be pulling the night shift at some twenty-four-hour grocery store because she – they – don't have enough money to afford living in White Plains, Westchester anymore.

They moved after it happened but that didn't change anything. They're still the same broken family, no matter where they settle down. There just aren't that many people to pity them here. Not everyone knows. It's just the way he likes it.

Dr. Loni writes something else down. Probably _no emotion_, _blank_, _empty_. Chris agrees with all of the above.

"What does that date have to do with you?"

_Everything_. "Santa comes tonight, doesn't he?" And he wants to laugh at how morbid he sounds. "Gives presents to little children, eats their cookies, drinks their milk."

"If you believe in that, yes. But that wasn't my question. What does December twenty-fourth have to do with _you_?"

Chris licks his lips. He doesn't understand why he asks this annually. He knows him well enough, he said that earlier. He doesn't need to do this. But he does.

"Nine years ago, my family moved here."

"Right. What happened that you needed to move here, Chris?"

He stares down at his burned hand, flipping it over to look at his palm. Veins run in and out of the red, black skin; it's raw and ugly and disgusting. "Why do you do this to me, Dr. Loni?"

"Do what?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Chris' voice is quiet, low. "You make me relive it. I don't understand. Aren't therapists supposed to help? You only make me feel worse. I thought we would talk about something else today but you always force me into recounting my experiences on the one day when they're so potent."

"I'm trying, Chris, to help you."

"No, you're not – tell me, Dr. Loni, have you ever lost a family member?"

He nods. "There comes a time when all you do is lose them."

"Did you ever lose one when you were barely old enough to walk to school by yourself?" Chris continues. He doesn't know what's gotten into him this time. "And this family member was two years younger than you and you loved her _so_ _fucking much_ that it hurt to be away from her for six hours a day? Did you help her with her homework and sneak her cookies when your mother said to wait until after dinner? Did. You?"

Dr. Loni's at a loss for words. His mouth is open but nothing comes out and Chris can't help the smirk that's forming on his lips. He's masochistic. Other people's discomfort – more so, their misery – makes him feel a little better about himself, makes him feel less alone.

"Did you go to sleep on Christmas Eve and promise to wake her up so you two could go spy on Santa?" His voice cracks. His throat constricts. "Did you set your alarm for three in the morning only to be woken up at eleven thirty? Did Christmas come and the only thing you heard was your sister's screams?"

"Chris, I don't think you should be speaking like this. It's not good for you –"

"See?" Chris snarls. "It didn't happen to you. You _don't _understand. Therefore, you can't help me." He spares a glance at the clock: five fifteen. "I don't know about you, Dr. Loni, but I think our time is up."

He stands abruptly, snatches his coat from the closet and shrugs into it. The older man hasn't moved, hand moving quickly across his pad – _crazy_, _angry_, _depressed_. Chris slams the door shut behind him, startling a girl sitting in the waiting room. She looks up at him, stares.

"Dr. Loni will probably see you soon," he says, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. He's unsure if he sounds hysterical or not by the way she frowns, but he shakes it off. "My session ended early."

And he's gone, barely wishing the receptionist a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, fleeing the building altogether.

His car's parked in the same spot it's always been ever since he passed his road test. He forces himself into the driver's side and gets himself the hell out, taking the long way home so he can think.

Dr. Loni's always been a bit of a prick. Chris has seen girls like the one he spoke to before come out of his office, tears streaming down their faces and cheeks red with embarrassment. He's never liked that – he's supposed to make them feel better about themselves; they're not supposed to feel worse. It's always up to Angela, the receptionist, to make them feel decent again and she gives out lollipops and stickers like they're at the pediatrician and she writes out birthday cards and makes everyone feel _good_.

He's never pushed him this far though. It was only a matter of time, he guesses, because he's never been this angry in his life and he's never spoken like that before. Again, he feels the hot tingle of tears and the taste of pennies in his mouth, but he swallows hard and blinks repeatedly until it's gone.

His windshield wipers are doing shit to help him see clearly. It makes sense that it's raining. Today's the only day of the year where he wishes he could crawl into a hole and die. While everyone else is celebrating Jesus' birth and the beginnings of winter break, he's desperately trying to keep himself together – he's the only one in the family who can't break down.

His mother… she's a wreck, even if she hides it well. Their kitchen is stocked with so many baking supplies and their fridge is covered in recipes she's been collecting since July. She hasn't touched any of them. That's what today's for. He's guaranteed to walk into his house and smell something baking – peanut butter cookies, red velvet cake, chocolate mousse pudding pie. It's the only way his mother can cope.

But when the clock strikes twelve, the sink is piled with dishes, and they're out of something, he hears her crying herself to sleep.

Chris is left to clean up after her, make the house spotless. He even decorates the tree for her, makes it shine like it used to.

He parks in the driveway, locks the door, steps into a huge mountain of snow. His jeans are soaked up to his knee but he doesn't care. Instead, he pushes his front door open. The smell of pound cake reaches his nostrils. He wishes that he could feel his mouth water, but he can't. Barbra Streisand's crooning softly throughout the house. Something's not right. He doesn't hear his mother cheerfully singing in the background, pretending to everyone and everything, including herself.

"Mom?"

Leaving his wet shoes on the mat, he pads into the kitchen to find that she's not there. Bowls upon bowls are shoved in their sink; the faucet is covered in batter. On the table, there's molasses cookies, cakes of every shape and color, cupcakes decorated like candy canes, gingerbread men.

There's a pan on the island, surrounded by a mess of sugar, ginger, cinnamon, and butter. A recipe lies flat on the table, stained with tea. He reads it, wondering what went wrong when he comes across the fifth ingredient – _three cups flour_.

He turns. The container of flour sits on the counter, top off. He peers inside. Empty. On the ground is the measuring cup and sprinklings of the white powder. He smiles grimly. They ran out of flour a little too early this year.

Barbra Streisand stops when he ejects the CD. He can hear his mother's sobs from down here, loud and desperate. It tugs at his heart, brings it down to his feet, but he can't go up there – he has to stay strong. For her.

So he slaps on yellow gloves, grabs the sponge, and starts scrubbing.

_Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas _plays from the radio.

Hours later, he finds himself in the living room, stringing popcorn like garland – they used to do that once upon a time – and hanging ornaments all around their tree. It's a shining, shimmering mess of fake happiness when he steps away and surveys it. It takes all of his willpower not to tear it down, branch by branch.

He keeps it – because that's what she would've wanted – and digs into the box once again.

Her stocking is in his hand and, fingers shaking, he hangs it above the fireplace in between his and his mother's. Three is better than two, he thinks; it makes him feel a little more homely.

He shuts the light off and climbs the stairs, knowing that later, when his mother composes herself and pulls the presents out of the closet in the basement, that her stocking will be filled. Come tomorrow, they'll exchange these gifts and he'll have to pretend that he doesn't see the third stocking, full of random toys a five year old would like, and candy that he'll inevitably eat when he can't take it anymore.

In the dead of the night, the letters glitters just like they did when they made those stockings. The lights on the tree reflect them and they sparkle like she would if she were still alive.

_Sammi_, it reads, in the messy scrawl of three year old who finally learned how to spell her name.


	2. two

_Okay, hey. _

_I'm kind of in love with the feeling of this story, even though it's terribly depressing – but I guess that's my depression talking, really. Anyway. Thank you for the kind reviews! This chapter is kind of a filler except for the last part because it's setting the scene and all. _

_I finally figured something out for _children get older, i'm getting older too _which you'll all probably hate me for, but I think it's the best way to tackle that story without giving up hope entirely. I have the end already planned – that's how the story started, actually – but I can't get the middle out. I hate that feeling._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>It's a Thursday when school starts up again.<p>

Everyone's ecstatic. After such a long break, they're graced with only a two day school week? It's probably the most exciting thing to hit Briarwood Academy, the home of the preppiest kids in the country. There's bound to be a _We Survived the Week After Vacation_! party because White Plains is full of douchebags, but Chris merely wishes it were Monday.

Or Tuesday.

Maybe Wednesday.

Anything's better than Thursday.

_Remember your appointment was rescheduled to 7pm.  
>-Mom<em>

Chris tosses his phone, ignoring the scratching sound it makes when it hits the wall of his locker. Thursdays meant therapy, and therapy meant Dr. Loni. These are the worst days of the week. He always debates just dropping the whole ordeal and faking his happiness and normalcy like he fakes it at school, but he figures it would be too much of a hassle. He doesn't have the energy.

He also knows that _she _would want him to go, and he doesn't want to disappoint her.

Grabbing his AP French book, he merges himself with the rest of his peers, trudging awkwardly to his next class. All around him, girls are gushing about their newest presents from their rich daddies, cooing over new haircuts, giggling over boys.

Over the clamor, he can hear a female voice – which isn't surprisingly since there seems to be an imperfect boy to girl ratio. "Do you _see_ my shirt?" she complains. He can't find her face, but he's positive she's making that half-pout, half-grimace that most girls seem to have down pat.

"Yeah…" someone else says, almost confused. "Is it new?"

"No!" the first one replies. "It's _stained_ – look? See."

"It's not that bad –"

The first girl interrupts the second, practically snarling, "It wasn't stained before my stupid sister wore it to some birthday party. Ugh. I _hate_ her."

Chris bristles, feeling his knuckles tighten and his hands turn into fists. _No_, he thinks. _Leave it be_. But he just can't understand how a person can hate a blood relative like that. Sure, they can be annoying at times and want to borrow clothes and follow one around like a puppy, but – it's not the end of the world.

The end of the world is when they barely have time to even _meet _this sibling; they hardly know their likes and dislikes and their fears and hopes. The end of the world is when that sibling disappears so quickly from one's grasp, almost as quickly as they were born. Not because they stained a shirt that could be so easily fixed, but because they're…gone.

He's not supposed to think about things like this. Dr. Loni told him he'd only end up making himself more upset than he normally is. Which Chris thinks is comical; he's already been diagnosed as clinically depressed. There's no way he can be any more miserable. That's just not human. He'd have to be dead to feel that way.

But it just irks him that people can think and say things like that. They never know how quickly things can be taken away from them. Everyone in this town takes almost everything for granted. If they knew, maybe they wouldn't be so quick to hate.

He supposes he has some weird look on his face because Josh Hotz calls him out on it when he walks into his French class. And then everyone's looking at him.

Time to put on his game-face.

In other words, time to be Mr. Popular With No Problems Except My Girlfriend Won't Put Out – a typical teenage boy.

If only.

"I'm fine." He grins easily, slipping into his seat (third row, fourth back, behind Layne Abeley and next to Derrick Harrington). "Some loser just bumped into me and almost spilled their coffee all over my shirt – and this is new."

Inwardly, he scoffs. He sounds like such a stereotypical Westchester brat.

"Sucks, man." Josh shrugs unkindly. "Almost happened to me once, which it couldn't have considering I was wearing that new Ralph Lauren polo I got, y'know?"

Chris rolls his eyes but agrees nonetheless. Josh is annoying and all, but he isn't in the mood to start a fight over clothes, something that is definitely _not _his forte.

He feels someone poke his elbow and a wad of paper lands on his desk.

_How was Christmas? _

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Derrick staring at him expectantly. Since when did they pass notes? Wasn't that so twenty years ago or something?

He responds anyway:

_Fine, I guess. Mom ran out of baking stuff a little earlier than expected, but besides that, we barely had any problems. My aunt came over with Olivia and Andy so we were all distracted. Why didn't you just text me this? _

He tosses it back over, blatantly staring at their teacher, Professeur DuBois, some scrawny guy who always cowers under his gaze. He's the only faculty member that's intimidated by the popularity rank – anyone like Chris or Derrick makes him squirm and he never questions their actions. Ever.

It's annoying, to be honest. Chris would like to get in trouble just once, but because the administration had to question why he was transferring into their district (they're nosy motherfuckers), they feel bad for him and his mom. Therefore, they would probably let him get away with murder.

The note's back on his desk before Professeur DuBois can recover from his shaking spell.

_You didn't answer me. You probably don't have your phone, dipshit. Anyway, I was gonna come over and see if you wanted help decorating your tree and all, but Mama Harrington wouldn't let me out because we were finally meeting Jon's fiancée and I had to be the perfect, soon-to-be brother-in-law. But at least you weren't alone. _

Chris and Derrick met when Chris was nine, two months after he moved. They accidentally got into a fight during recess at school over something really trivial he can't recall to save his life. Derrick ended up with a bloody lip and a black eye, and Chris had a broken nose. They ended up sorting it all out – it was really Derrick's fault anyway – but Chris refused to be friends with him. Too much had gone on in his life and he wasn't really in the mood for a friend. Or anyone really.

But Derrick's mom forced the eight year old to make Chris brownies as an apology. By himself. They sucked. Instead of eating them themselves, they ended up bringing them to school the next day and putting them on the desks of all the kids they didn't like, watching them with muffled giggles when they spat out the brown concoction.

Two weeks after that, Chris' father up and left.

Derrick and Chris have been best friends ever since. He's the only one – besides Cam Fisher, but we'll get to that later – who knows almost everything about him. They're the complete opposites: Chris is quiet and reserved while Derrick is the most outgoing person he's ever encountered. They like so many different things, have different opinions on all sorts of nonsense, but one thing that's never changed is that they always have each other's backs, whether it be in a fist fight or family problems.

_I must've left it in my locker then. I wouldn't want to subject you to what goes on inside my house, but thanks. We were okay. We always are. _

—

"Remember, guys, our reservation is at eight! Don't. Be. Late." Kristen Gregory glances surreptitiously at Claire Lyons, who always strolls in about a minute later than the former likes. No one understands why she even cares, but Kristen's a stickler for time management and being prompt. She always has been.

Chris also doesn't understand why they need to be reminded every week. They all know that on Thursdays at eight, they have their weekly dinner at some Italian place he can't pronounce the name of. Kristen thinks it's their way of being more "adult" and "classy." He just thinks it's annoying.

After all, she doesn't have to pay for herself. He pays for the both of them.

"I might be a little late," he starts off slowly. Sessions with Dr. Loni – at least his, these days – run longer than they should. Loni thinks he's got something wrong with him, something other than the depression and the, you know, obviously dead sister, absentee father, and unstable mother. Ever since his outburst on Christmas Eve, he's been under Loni's scrutinizing gaze more often than not.

Kristen turns her glare towards him. He hates when she looks angry because she's not the type of girl who can pull off the hot-when-furious look. Sure, he thinks she's gorgeous and looks like a modern-day Rapunzel with her big bluish-green eyes and long flaxen curls that fall to her mid-back…but she just can't do it.

"Why not?"

"Coach wants to talk to him about the season," Cam quickly puts in when Chris looks at a loss for words.

"That late?" She looks suspicious.

Cam nods. "That's the only time he's free today. He's got to train the girls indoor track team or something. Chris is the captain so he needs to discuss the roster and shit like that."

"I thought Derrick was captain."

"For football. Not basketball."

"Oh. Right." Kristen blinks, as if she didn't really know that. Chris isn't sure if she did or not, but he's glad when she shuts up and continues her conversation with Dylan Marvil about their calc teacher's shoes.

He flashes a quick smile at Cam, who merely winks in response and goes back to shoveling food down his throat.

Cam moved to White Plains in seventh grade. He was a dorky kid with glasses and his older brother's hand-me-down flannel shirts. The third day of the year, he was getting harassed by a bunch of eighth grade lacrosse players who thought he was the worst thing on the planet. Derrick and Chris, being the awesome guys they are, backed him up. Granted, they lost that fight considering they were only twelve, but they were stuck with Cam for the next four years. Now Cam the "hottest thing _ever_" or as Kristen said was written on the bathroom stalls and he finally traded in those glasses for contacts. And a leather jacket. So, yeah, girls ate it up.

He, along with Derrick, always make up excuses for Chris' frequent absences and weird mood swings. Especially when Kristen's around. It's not that he wants to keep this secret from his girlfriend, but it's easier to avoid her pity. She's not exactly the type of person who knows what to do about things like that, so it's better that he keep his mouth shut. She's never expressed any interest in meeting his family anyway, so why bring it up now?

That's right – there's no point.

So he just grins and bears it.

—

"Break ended yesterday, right? How was school?"

"Fine," Chris mumbles, pulling at the string on his jeans.

"What'd you do?"

_What do you think, asswipe? _"Learned."

Dr. Loni sighs, fixing his glasses. "Chris. This isn't going to work if you're not going to cooperate. I'm trying to _help_ –"

"I thought we went over this. You're not."

"Resisting me won't work. It's been years since you've pushed me away like this." He consults his notepad again, almost as if he has all of his transcripts of Chris' previous therapy sessions right in front of him. That would mean he has a notepad for each person he's ever seen – that's a lot of notepads. "What happened, Chris? What triggered this mood?"

How the hell is Chris supposed to know that? He rolls his eyes, watching his finger throb – redredred – before letting the string go loose. Pain is oddly soothing sometimes, like the way he can make people feel really shitty about themselves. It makes him feel human, alive. Sometimes he wonders if he's dead; he has no reactions or feelings to things.

He just knows that things got even worse for him once the nightmares started up again, but he doesn't want to talk about those with Dr. Loni. He hates them.

"I grew up," he finally says. "I don't want to talk about my feelings anymore."

"Chris, you _need_ to."

"You don't understand!" he grits out. "You really don't! My sister… she was what kept the family together. Once she was gone, everything was fucked. My dad – my mom… it went to shit."

"If I don't understand, then why don't you tell me?"

"Because," Chris practically shouts, temper rising, "I don't _want _to! I don't want to talk about Sammi or my dick of a father or my mother or _anything_! I especially don't want to talk about the night it happened or anything else! I'm having – I'm having _nightmares_ again – if I have to relive it, I'd rather not talk about it, okay?"

He's breathing heavily when he finishes talking. Dr. Loni looks stunned, but quickly composes himself and starts writing rapidly. Chris knows exactly what it says: _drastic mood swings, obvious depression, nightmares previously solved returning_.

He knows he shouldn't have told him about the dreams, but he couldn't help it. Dr. Loni knows how to push him to the core. He knows exactly what buttons to push, how to make him start talking. Chris can tell he's obviously pleased with himself; he has that annoying twinkle in his eye.

After the scribbling subsides, Dr. Loni asks, "What happens in these dreams, Chris?"

"The same thing that always happens," the younger boy mutters, refusing to make eye contact. "I'm at home – my old home – but this time I'm sixteen, like I am now, and I'm not sleeping, I'm just… watching. And… and I hear her. Screaming, sobbing. Mom's already out of the house and Dad's dragging nine-year-old-me behind him. And I'm kicking and biting and scratching but he won't let go and Mom's crying that her little baby is still there and I get free, right?"

He swallows the lump in his throat. Dr. Loni is writing down every word he says, probably analyzing it to see if Chris is suicidal or more than clinically depressed or what have you. He hates this dream. He wishes he could take some sort of medicine that would hinder his dreams forever.

Like in Harry Potter.

Dreamless Sleep would be fucking awesome.

"And then… I'm inside. And it's hot. Scalding, really. I'm scared. I know that much, but I have this determination. I just _can't _leave her. And Dad's yelling at me because I'm not supposed to be inside and I sort of hesitate because I can see clearly outside and the rest of the house is dangerous – but then I'm like _fuck it_, I can't leave her in there. So I go through the house and –"

A knock on the door interrupts him.

Dr. Loni frowns, looks at the clock. Normally people aren't supposed to interrupt when he has a patient, but if Angela thinks it's necessary, she allows them to seek him out. Chris just stares down at his hands – his raw fingers, the only terrible remembrance of that night. His therapist lets whoever it is in.

Vaguely, he's thanking God or whoever's up there for this distraction. He doesn't want to discuss this nightmare anymore. It sucks. It _hurts_. He's reminded of all he couldn't do. Maybe Dr. Loni will forget about him and he can slip out or time will pass and their session will be up.

At the same time, he kind of wishes he could just blurt out the rest and get it off his chest, get the feeling of failure out of him. He's never felt like he was worthless before, but remembering that he couldn't save her makes his self-worth drop drastically. He was a terrible big brother.

"Massie?" Dr. Loni sounds surprised. "What are you doing here? Your appointment was yesterday."

"Well," says the girl, her voice soft. "I just came by to tell you that I can't really come to tomorrow's session because I have – um – a family thing."

_She's lying_. Chris can tell. He's lied to Dr. Loni before, told him he was alright when he really wasn't, told him he was taking his antidepressants when he wasn't. This girl is ditching him for something else.

He looks up to see who she is, even if he feels a little uncomfortable doing so. She's got these brown curls that spiral in an edgier way than Kristen's, and she's pale, paler than the girls he's used to. Her eyes are big and amber, framed with dark black lashes. Freckles dance across her nose. She's wearing a sweater that's one size too big.

He feels like he's seen her before, but he's not quite sure. He would've remembered her.

Dr. Loni merely smiles at her. "That's fine. I do hope I can see you Saturday, then? If that's okay?" She doesn't respond, playing with the sleeves on her shirt, an obvious sign of discomfort. "And I want you to write in your journal every day. Massie. _Every day_. It's important. I'd like you to bring it in on Saturday when you come."

Chris can't help but feel interested. The way she's cringing at the thought of her journal and the way that he's practically forcing her to write in it, like she's blatantly ignored his requests. He knows he shouldn't even be here, during a moment like this, but it's not his fault, right? He doesn't even know her… and yet, he wants to ask her why she has a journal and what she's writing about.

He keeps his mouth shut anyway. It's not his place to pry.

"Okay," she finally caves. "I'll see you Saturday."

Dr. Loni nods, writing something down in his leather-bound book. Massie turns to leave, but catches Chris' eye before she can do so. Hers widen in recognition before she drops her head and bolts out the door.

"Sorry about that, Chris. She's an… _important_ patient. I always need to see her when she arrives."

But Chris doesn't hear him. He's too busy focusing on the fact that the lanyard sticking out of her pocket was practically identical to the one that his car keys are on. Maroon with blue writing that says _Briarwood Academy_.


	3. three

_And the plot moves forward!_

_In case you were wondering what everyone looks like, I put pretty pictures of them all on my profile, even the ones I barely mention. It was fun. _

_These are the songs that make this story fabulous: _Skinny Love, Bon Iver; The Mess I Made, Parachute; After the Storm, Mumford and Sons; Never Alone, Jesse Bonanno; Hurricane, Jimmy Needham; (sometimes) Edge of Desire, John Mayer; Tonight, FM Static; Something to Believe in, Parachute; Give it Lift Off, Covette

_When I'm writing this story, those are the only songs I listen to. It makes it easier to get the words out, really. Music is so powerful :3_

_Thank you for the reviews. I will get around to replying personally soon! I'm a lazybutt most of the time._

* * *

><p>In normal world, Thursdays would probably run a bit more smoothly. He'd go to school, go to basketball practice, come home, do his homework, and go out at eight like he's supposed to. But because he's the farthest from normal, he's forced to pretend like he does those things on a weekly basis and never speaks of anything else.<p>

So, after he escapes from Dr. Loni's Office of Fucking Terror (complete with a new prescription for an antidepressant with more of a _kick_), Chris pulls his shoes off at the front door, mumbles something incomprehensible at his mother – who is perched on the chair, watching one of her soap operas – and climbs the stairs to his room.

It registers in his mind that he needs to be at that shitty Italian restaurant, but once his head hits his pillow, he's out like a light.

::

He wakes up to a darkened room, his covers pulled up over him and his door shut tight. The clock on his nightstand tells him it's two oh four in the morning, red blinking numbers that blind him.

His forehead is covered in a cold sweat; his body is shaking from his latest nightmare. This one was worse than the others – it shook him to the very core, frightened him to no end. His sister was in it, as she always is…but this time, she was burned, charred. Her eyes, though; her eyes were just as green as he remembered: full of hatred, tears – all aimed at him. "How _could_ you?" she had said, tiny voice wobbling with absolute animosity. "I needed you and you weren't there. You let me _die_." He had tried to reason with her, told her that he didn't mean it – he couldn't get to her – I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry Sammi Sammi Sammi please please please, but she wouldn't listen. She repeatedly told him that it was his fault, why couldn't he be better than he was, why why why?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Chris sits up quickly, his hand groping for his pillow. He notices the small notebook on his nightstand, tattered and ruined. Dr. Loni had given him that years ago when his nightmares were the worst, building up with the nastiest images his self-conscious could create. He remembers they used to tear him apart; he used to be unable to attend school because he would be in hysterics the entire day.

He hasn't had to write in it since he was twelve.

Why does he have to now? Was it because she would've been fourteen this year? That's not a very monumental birthday, so it doesn't make any sense.

Still, he hesitantly reaches for it, grabbing the pen left close by and turns to a fresh page. He writes everything down, including his initial feelings from when he returned home from the therapist, to the shaky, confused way he feels now.

It takes a whole three pages.

He hates it.

He hates the way he's always feeling like crap, how he's destined to be depressed forever because of one simple event that ended up changing his life. He hates that his mother is rendered unstable when she's left without anything to do; he hates that his father completely left them because _they were too much to handle, sorry _and started a new family with some blonde bimbo, had two kids, and loved them even more than he ever loved Chris and the rest of them.

He hates that he's fucking pretending all the goddamn time. He hates that even his best friends look at him like he's some fragile porcelain doll that could never, ever be broken. He has feelings, you know, and he really would like it if something, for fucking once, _hurt _them. He wishes someone would treat him like a normal person, not the kid who lost everything because of one night.

He wants to feel something more than numbness.

Throwing the book back on his nightstand, he notices the blinking light of his phone in his pocket and pulls it out, sighing.

_12 missed calls  
>3 texts<br>2 BBMs _

The calls are from his girlfriend and he really doesn't want to listen to her voicemails. He can already imagine her angry voice and the huge words she uses when she's beyond pissed. He doesn't care, really, so he merely erases them before he even listens. She texted him once, but the other two are from Josh and Dylan. He gets rid of those.

The only things he even bothers opening are the messages from his friends. He's never really cared much about Dylan or Josh – they were thrust upon him once he and Kristen started to date two years ago. They obviously haven't gotten the message that he's…well, uninterested in their friendships, as fake as they may be.

_Dude, Kristen is FLIPPING.  
>I'm gonna sound so gay but omg she's literally turning red<br>Where the fuck are you?  
><em>(insert stealthily taken picture of his girlfriend in Anger Mode)

_Thank you for this entertainment  
>She just threw a piece of bread at the back of Layne Abeley's head<em>

Grinning, Chris texts back a response. He didn't even care that he missed the dinner, those were pointless to begin with. That sleep – that's something he needs more of. Although he never really gets any peace… he feels less exhausted. Kind of.

_Sorry_, he says, _I fell asleep._

Cam answers back almost instantly, but that's to be expected. He's always been something of an insomniac – if he were to actually sleep decently enough for one night, Chris is sure he'd be confused.

He flips a dark curl out of his eye, opening the text.

_Derrick and I figured but jesus, Kristen was having a heart attack. I don't know why you put up with her, dude. _

It's hard to explain Kristen and Chris' relationship. She's bossy and controlling. She likes everything to be perfect. But she wasn't always like that. Back in ninth grade, when they first met, she was practically perfect in every way. She liked to play soccer, got good grades, wore modest clothing. He thought she was the best thing since sliced bread. She took his mind off of Sammi and his stupid family life for the longest time.

Around February, she met Dylan Marvil and Claire Lyons.

Dylan's the girl that everyone loves to hate and hates to love. She's got this flowing red hair in tight ringlets that cascades down her back almost as boisterously as her personality. She can make anyone cry at the snap of a finger, and knows how to manipulate teachers into next Tuesday.

Claire looks demure enough, with her wide, doe-like eyes that flutter innocently and her pin-straight platinum hair. Don't let her looks fool you, however, because she's probably the nastiest person he's ever met. They went to school together at Octavian Country Day and she ruled that place with an iron fist. One wrong move and you were _history._ Simple as that.

So when Dylan and Claire met in the beginning of high school – in a catfight over the shirt they both happened to be wearing – they became best friends.

And when poor, innocent, naïve Kristen stumbled upon them in the girl's bathroom the night of a big basketball game, they clicked. She became one of them and never turned back.

That's why she's the way she is now: Dylan and Claire changed her. For the better, they promised, but Chris thinks it's for the worst.

He thinks he's still holding on to their fraying relationship because he likes to believe there's still the sweet girl he met in Geometry the second week of freshmen year. He's probably kidding himself, but he can't let go.

_I told you already, Cam. I just… don't know. But I'm getting tired again and I've got a test in Bio first period so I better get some sleep._

He ignores the flashing light when Cam answers and throws himself back on his bed, arms beneath his head. He lies there for what feels like forever, staring up at the ceiling as the darkness forms shapes and pictures, playing with his eyes.

::

Kristen's not talking to him.

She's mad he "fell asleep" – yes she put the words in air-quotes; she doesn't believe him – and missed out on the dinner. It's not his fault he was so tired, so miserable, so _done _that he accidentally passed out on his bed.

But he can't tell her that.

All she knows is that he disappears on Thursdays a lot, but most of the time, he makes it back in time for their eight o'clock reservations. Even when he's fucking sick, he makes it. Can't she cut him some slack just this once?

Of course not.

He doesn't even bother trying to explain himself. She's way too annoyed with him to even think clearly; therefore she's calling him every name in the book and stabbing him in the chest with her manicured fingernail.

He just says, "Basketball practice," and turns on his heel, walking away from his raving girlfriend.

These are the times he wishes she would go away. Or dump him. Either one.

The gym's calming when he gets there. Coach is standing on the sidelines, talking to the one sophomore who made it on the team last week (Kristen doesn't have to know that they already had tryouts and Cam lied to her, but whatever). Josh is – correction: _was_ – showing off to some seniors, but they easily tore him to shreds.

Sometimes, Chris wonders why he's even the captain if they have so many kids older than him on the team. They're able to command attention and lead them to victory. He even brought this up to Coach once, but all he did was laugh and shake his head, almost as if he was amused that Chris even asked the question.

To this day, he still doesn't know the answer.

(Derrick says it's because he's got this authoritative air to him or some shit like that; Cam says it's because he's probably the only one who can handle Coach's crap)

The locker room's empty. He notices his friends' backpacks and jeans thrown haphazardly on the tiled floor, and steps over them, twirling his combo into his lock and shoving all of his personal belongings inside.

Screeching sneakers and balls hitting the gymnasium floor echo through the quiet. Coach's whistle pierces the air. To be honest, Chris doesn't like basketball all that much. It's boring. It's _inside_. He'd rather be slamming into other people outside on the field or hitting them with his lacrosse stick. Hell, he'd rather be running around the track.

But he needs something to take his mind off of his shitty life, so he makes sure he does something every season. He's never to be left alone with his thoughts. That happened once… it isn't a very good place for him. He'd rather be worrying about something, thinking constantly and constantly, rather than not.

"_Plovert_! Get out here right now!"

Josh is snickering once Chris emerges, like he's so fucking high and mighty. The latter rolls his eyes, walking over to Derrick and Cam, slipping past Danny Robbins.

Coach is explaining something Chris doesn't care about, how they need to be on top this year, blah blah _blah_, practice every day at home, if they don't think they're capable then they should leave now, everyone is replaceable. Shit like that.

He announces who the captain is, which is weird, considering they've known since last year – Chris. And Josh does that weird thing where he looks like he's going to vomit and laugh at the same time. Obviously he has a problem with the leadership here. Not like Chris cares or anything.

Then he forces them to start warming up.

Again, it's quiet. No voices, just playing. It feels like forever when Chris finally stops to get a drink of water, surveying the rest of the team. Derrick's overtaking Josh – it almost looks as if they're playing a game. Cam's practicing something or other; he doesn't need to fix any of his technique. He's actually pretty perfect, but Coach isn't willing to admit that someone needs to _stop _being good.

Chris runs his hand through his shaggy brown curls when the door opens. Skye Hamilton flounces in, bundled up in her winter coat, holding her car keys in her hand. He's seen her before – numerous times, actually – because Derrick's got this huge crush on her, something that pisses Dylan and Claire off because, well, he's popular and she's _not_.

He casually glances at Derrick, who sort of stumbles when he notices she's there. Josh uses that to his advantage.

Skye's pretty in that artsy way. Different colored highlights are always peeking out of her blonde hair and the underneath of her fingernails are dyed with paints. He knows she always goes to the art room on her off periods. She's really good.

Behind her, Alicia Rivera follows, lugging two textbooks in her arms, along with her bulky backpack. He knows next to nothing about her, except that she's the most obvious choice to be valedictorian next year. She's beyond smart, something that irks Kristen to no end, but that's what she gets for giving up on her classes because of Dylan and Claire.

Another girl comes strolling in behind them, eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses. She looks familiar: the hair, the build, the walk. He knows someone else is part of that trio. There definitely is another name combined with Alicia Rivera and Skye Hamilton.

Coach calls him because they're practicing a play, but he's stuck, staring at the three girls as they take a detour through the gym to the student parking lot behind the school. Again, his name is called and the third girl looks up, catches his eye, and hurriedly pushes past her friends and out the door.

He _knows _her.

_Plovert, for fuck's sakes, get your ass over here! _is what his coach says, but he's looking at nothing still, his mind whirling. She was at the therapist the other day. She was _there_.

"Dude." Derrick comes up to him, hitting his shoulder. "You better not be into Hamilton."

The way he says it is playful, but Chris knows he'd kill him if he did. "No," he replies, slightly amused, "girl's yours. But—um—who's the other one? Not Rivera."

"You mean, Massie Block?" his friend questions, stretching his arms over his head. "The one with the glasses, right?"

Chris nods. "Her name's Massie? How come I've never seen her before?"

"She's been going to school with us since fifth grade, man." Derrick stares at him, long and hard, like he's trying to figure out a puzzle. "Why the sudden interest?"

"Uh, no reason," Chris lies, but he can feel his ears redden, the sudden warmth a strange sensation compared to the bitter cold of the gym. "I just… you'd think I'd remember a name like Massie. Not exactly a common name, you know?"

Derrick snorts and pulls him back to practice, where he gets reprimanded for being an inconsiderate ass.

::

The next time he sees her, it's the next week. She's in his American History class. She sits in the back left corner, hidden away in the shadows. He only notices her because he gets there early and she comes in after him. She avoids his gaze with her head down and traipses off to her seat.

::

He sees her again in the cafeteria.

She's on her way to her table. He's going to the bathroom. Their paths cross. They make eye contact for a second, but it feels like forever, before she mumbles an apology and pushes past him.

He forgets that he was leaving the room.

::

It's a month later when he finally talks to her. She's at her locker – it's around the corner from his, and he doesn't know why he's never seen her before.

She's been popping up everywhere lately. He's seen her at the store with his mom, and in his classes, and she goes to the same therapist.

He sees her. She's wearing his blue striped sweater that's one size too big. Chris notices that she has a thing for shirts that are too big for her, but he doesn't understand why since she looks so thin, so effortlessly perfect.

She's struggling with her bag and her books. Without thinking, he grabs some of them and when she looks up to see who would even think of helping her, she frowns, looking confused.

He says, "You cut your hair."


	4. four

_I'm aware this is so much shorter than usual, but it's what happens. Chapter lengths always vary even if I don't want them to /:_

_ANDDDDDD I have a potential storyline for a Skye/Derrick, but I'm not even going to focus on that until I have it planned and one of my stories is finished. Would you read it? Also, I'm sad to say that _children get older, i'm getting older too _has been deleted. It had no plot after the last chapter and I've lost my muse indefinitely. Never fear, something will return like it, but not at the present time. I'm sorry ): _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Numerous things run through his mind when she doesn't respond. <em>Shit <em>is really the one that's the most prominent. He feels stupid, really stupid. He thinks he should have planned this out a little more, been less spontaneous, you know? It's weird when someone whom of which you've never spoken to before in your life walks up to you and comments on the state of your hair.

It makes him look like he's been stalking her. Which he _hasn't_. He's just seen her around a lot because, well, she's been around a lot. They were in the same aisle at the video store.

But _fuck_, this looks so creepy.

And she's still not speaking.

Her hair does look nice, though. It's shorter than it was before. Not as curly. He thinks it suits her. Her face isn't as harsh-looking anymore, softer.

_Say something_, he urges, _anything. Please. _

Massie only blinks in response, eyes larger than he's ever seen them. This always happens, this reaction, when someone realizes that the person they've spotted also goes to the therapist they do. They sort of just stare, this completely obvious look on their face – the shocked plus embarrassed hue. He's experienced this more times than he wishes, even with people older than him. Chris Abeley used to go to Dr. Loni before he went off to college and although the younger Chris never knew why he was there, the older one always avoided him like the plague with the exact same expression – terrified anxiety.

Maybe he should go. That seems plausible. The increasing weight in his hands reminds him that, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to. He's holding her books. He can put them on the ground, he rationalizes, and then walk away, but that's even more awkward than the current predicament.

Just as the warning sirens go off in his head, the ones that tell him to get the fuck out, Massie tucks her bangs behind her ear (most of them don't stay because they were cut shorter). "Yes, I did."

It's three words and it's making him uncomfortable, but, hey, it's something.

She's looking at him again, as if waiting for a response. He opens his mouth and then realizes he didn't plan this far ahead. He never thought she'd actually respond. He has nothing to say.

He definitely feels his cheeks heat up even more than they did previously. When did he get so bad at talking to girls? Maybe it's because she knows something about him that not everyone else does, even though she doesn't know it yet – but she knows something. He swallows thickly. This isn't one of his better ideas. It probably would've been better if he didn't speak to her at all, pretended she didn't exist, never saw her all over the place…but something's drawing him to her and he can't just avoid _that_.

Before he knows it, before it even registers in his brain, he speaks and it comes out almost like word vomit: "It looks nice."

_Nice_. It looks _nice_. That's not something he should've said. Now it sounds like he's trying to hit on her or something. He barely even notices when Kristen cuts her hair, not like she does it this drastically, but still. Why does he notice this?

"Thank you." She licks her lips, closing the small metal door slowly, taking a really long look inside. When she finally clicks her lock, securing her personal items, she turns to him again. "For that, too." She gestures to her books in his hands.

He grins sheepishly. "No problem. You looked like you were having trouble."

"I was," she admits. "It's just – um – easier to carry all of my things because my classes aren't near my locker and it takes me forever to go back and forth."

"Understandable."

But Chris really doesn't understand because he's never had this problem. He barely takes any classes that need him to lug heavy textbooks back and forth. And she's got three books to read for English in this pile – _To Kill a Mockingbird_, _Catcher in the Rye_, _The Crucible_. He's only reading one in his class…

She shifts her notebooks and binders to her left side, reaching her hand out to grab the ones he has in his hands. He hesitates.

The warning bell rings above them.

"Thanks," she says again, "but I really should go before I'm late –"

"Let me walk you," he blurts.

She looks taken aback and his mind is whirling. Did he say the wrong thing? Was that not a good idea? Does he sound creepy? _Fuckfuckfuckfuck_.

"Because," he recovers quickly. "It's a lot of stuff and it's heavy so, like, I wouldn't mind. I'm off this period anyways so it doesn't matter if I'm late." Which is a lie, but whatever.

"Um." Massie looks down at her watch. "Okay."

They fall into step next to each other and she tells him she has physics now. He makes a face because that sounds _so_ boring and quite frankly, he has never excelled at science ever. He tells her this.

She laughs, tells him that it's not so hard; it's all math, really. But Chris isn't good at math either, so he'd probably suck at physics. The only classes he's good at are social studies and English. He doesn't know why though – he hates reading and history is annoying.

Unfortunately, the time comes when he has to leave her, but he offers to drop her books off at her desk. When he walks in, he notices Dylan, in all of her fiery-redhead glory, and blanches. She's glaring at him with her weird cat eyes, but he puts Massie's books by the rest of her things anyway.

She's going to tell Kristen. He can hear it already. _You'll never believe what's happening right now. Chris is carrying Massie Block's books. Can you believe it? _

"Thanks, Chris," Massie murmurs, knocking him out of his reverie.

He smiles. "Anytime, Massie."

The bell rings again and the physics teacher stares pointedly at him. Chris quickly gets the message, forces a smile Dylan's way – which she doesn't take to, obviously – and exits the room. If looks could kill, he's sure he'd be dead. Dylan already thinks he's "unfit" as a boyfriend because he missed one fucking dinner. This just adds icing on the cake.

In a matter of periods, Kristen will get the text message from Dylan and become furious. Honestly, Chris doesn't carry her shit at all. First off, she doesn't really have school things. She has one notebook in which she writes things if she feels fit, which isn't very often. Second, she refuses to act like the typical girlfriend who can't function without her boyfriend by her side. He doesn't understand what that means, but he never bothers inquiring.

He just knows she's going to be fucking pissed at him. He doesn't know if he should be terrified or not.

"Christopher _Matthew _Plovert!"

Yeah, he should be terrified. Whenever Kristen uses his middle name when speaking to him, she's beyond done with him.

She's standing there, hands on hips, face pinched. In the middle of the hallway. Her phone is clutched tightly in her hand.

"Hey," he says brightly.

Her face reddens even more. Chris is surprisingly amused with this. "_Hey_?" she echoes, voice rising. "_Hey_? Are you fucking kidding me?"

He blinks. "Don't you have a class right now?"

"Don't – don't ask me stupid questions like that!" she fumes. "Better yet, let me ask you one. Why is it that when I'm having a fantastic day, you have to go screw it up?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You… _you_…" She lets out an irritated squeak. "Cut the crap, Chris. You know _exactly _what I'm talking about!"

Chris rolls his eyes, hoisting his falling backpack on his shoulder once more. This is ridiculous. "I didn't do _anything _to you, Kris."

"Then explain this to me." She thrusts her phone in his face. He has to pull away to actually read the words.

_From: Dylan  
>Chris just walked into my physics class. Carrying Massie Blech's books.<em>

"I'm pretty sure her last name is spelled Be-el-oh-see-kay."

"Why were you carrying her books, Chris?" Kristen's eyes darken dangerously. "_Why_?"

"She was struggling at her locker. I thought I'd be nice."

"We _don't _like her."

Chris snorts. "That's what I don't understand about you, Kristen. If you don't like someone, you make sure that everyone else doesn't. I don't dislike anyone."

"Sometimes, I wonder why I'm dating you."

He opens his mouth up to shoot her some retort that'll most likely get him smacked in the face when he freezes, takes a second, thinks.

Kristen's overreacting, but he's really not in the mood to get in this argument again. Ever since the Dinner Fiasco, she's been dropping hints that he's the worst boyfriend in the world and that she doesn't know what she's ever seen in him. It bothers him solely based on the fact that he's not a terrible boyfriend; he treats her right. Maybe they're fading, he doesn't know, but they shouldn't get into these fights because he missed a dinner.

"You know what?" he says softly, grabbing her hand and pulling her closer to him. "You're right."

Her face falls in confusion, the anger completely gone. "I'm –?" she starts, questioning, before she composes herself and the arrogant air she always possesses is back in place. "Of course I am."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, placing a chaste kiss against her lips. "Next time, I'll just ignore people when they're having problems. Unless it's you."

She smiles prettily, all signs of ugly angriness gone. "Good. Now, since class is going to be over in, like, fifteen minutes, do you want to go to get Starbucks?"

He agrees because choosing class over her would cause another huge outburst. He swings his arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer to his body. Her head leans against his shoulder. He feels awkward, uncomfortable, like she doesn't fit there.

Even more so, he feels disgusting for just giving in like that.


	5. five

**Guys. I am on such a roll with writing this story. Up to chapter twelve. And it was going great and I had it all planned out until Chris did something stupid and messed up the whole storyline... I can fix it though. Don't worry. **

**I want to thank you all for the reviews! Add some more? :)**

* * *

><p>"That'll be fifteen ninety-seven." Chris plasters a smile on his face, watching in hidden disinterest as the elderly woman in front of him sifts through her change purse for a quarter, a nickel, a dime – something. He's not paying attention.<p>

Chris hates his job.

The supermarket he managed to snag a job at in tenth grade is probably the last place he wants to be. Ever. Its fluorescent lighting makes his head hurt, the floors are always so shiny and clean; the people – maybe not the workers, but the customers – are always so fucking _cheerful_.

Cheerful. Chris is the complete opposite of cheerful. He's pretty good at faking it, he guesses, since no one's ever called him out on it. But like… no. He'd rather be somewhere, _anywhere_, else.

The woman hands him a twenty with the exact change. He grins like he cares (which he doesn't, obviously) and gives her four dollars and three cents back, all while lifting the groceries he packed across the cash register and into her cart.

"Have a nice day!" she says back to him, wheeling out of the store and into the parking lot.

He watches her go, mostly out of sheer boredom. She's got a light blue car. It's simple, easy, affordable. One day, she'll eventually have to sell it – when she gets too old to drive and has to rely on her children and potential grandchildren to transport her places.

He's got ten minutes until his shift is over. Not like he's really got anything to look forward to – his English teacher assigned the next five chapters in his book for homework. He's most likely not going to do it; he rarely bothers with those. He doesn't care about books. The ones he has to read in English, actually. He's read others.

His train of thought is disrupted when someone angrily slams a box of double fudge brownie mix on the conveyor belt-type thing. He looks up and blinks. (He's been doing a lot of that lately, hasn't he?) Standing before him with extremely pissed off looks on their faces are Skye Hamilton and Alicia Rivera. And they seem to be directed at _him_.

Awesome.

"Um, hey," he starts, grabbing their item. Alicia slaps his hand away, and he reels back, confused. Don't they want to buy this? "I'm not sure if you're aware, but at supermarkets, we have to scan things to get your total…" He's aware he sounds increasingly cheeky and obnoxious, but what is even going on right now?

Skye scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I'm aware, _dumbass_."

Alicia snorts, tucking stray locks of hair into the gray beanie on her head. "We're here to talk to you."

"I have –" He glances around, realizing in disappointment that he really doesn't have anything better to do. There's no one else in the store. Rather, there's no one else on his line…so he's stuck with them.

"Don't say you have other customers, Plovert, because you don't." Skye stares at him intensely. The underneath of her blonde hair is dyed a dark brown. It seems she opted out of colorful streaks this time around. "We need to discuss something."

"Wha –"

"_Why _did you talk to Massie today?" Alicia cuts in, her voice sharp like a razor.

"What?"

"Are you daft or something?" Skye snaps. "We want to know what was behind your reasoning for talking to Massie today."

Chris licks his lips nervously. "Um, nothing?" It comes out more like a question than he wants it to. "I was just – I saw her and I decided to help her with her books?"

"Are you trying to make fun of her or something?" Alicia asks in all seriousness.

He can't believe this is happening right now. He has to have a _reason_ for talking to someone? Jesus. All he did was take her books and walk her to class… He shakes his head in response to the Latina's question.

"Well, _Christopher_," Skye enunciates, "why did your _darling _girlfriend harass her then?"

Dread washes over him. Kristen. He thought they were fine now after he went to Starbucks with her, cut half the day with her, _and _drove her home. "What do you mean?" he asks, glancing down at the floor.

Skye lets out a sarcastic laugh. "You mean you don't know? Leesh, did you hear that? He doesn't know!"

Alicia narrows her eyes. "Wait. Skye. Hear him out."

Chris flashes her a grateful look, but she ignores it, determined to listen to him. "I don't know what you two are talking about. I walked her to class and then didn't see her after that. All I know is that she was in physics. What does Kristen have to do with this?"

"She followed Massie into the bathroom and tore her to shreds," Skye states slowly. "She told her to stay away from _her _man and then proceeded to make fun of her. Because of _you_."

"I didn't…that wasn't my intention. She just looked like she was having trouble with her books so I took some and walked her to class. It wasn't like I was deliberately trying to start something so my girlfriend could harass her. That's Josh's specialty."

"Then why did she do it?"

Chris sighs in exasperation. "I'm not my girlfriend. I don't know. She's…intimidated, I guess."

"_Intimidated_?" Alicia echoes. "Why – exactly – are you talking to Massie again?" The insinuation in her voice makes Chris uncomfortable.

He can't really explain to her why he's so interested in her friend without sounding like some freak of nature who is still attending therapy for no fucking reason. Except for the fact that he's sometimes completely unstable and his mother's sanity is hanging by a sheer thread. To tell them he thinks Massie is someone who might actually understand him on more levels than just pity will make him look stupid.

So, he lies.

"I'm not _talking _to her, really. I just walked her to class. That's all." He shrugs to make himself look more believable. "I was just being nice. That's what I do."

"But you're, like, popular."

"Don't stereotype," he says quickly. "I'm not some kid who likes to shove other people into lockers and belittle those I don't hang out with. I'm just like you. I'm just on a bunch of different sports teams and my best friends are Derrick and Cam and I'm dating Kristen Gregory."

Alicia wrinkles her nose, but says nothing.

Skye raises an eyebrow. "Well, Plovert, I can't find a hole in your story so I _guess_ you're off the hook. But if I find out that Kristen's bothering with my best friend again, you will pay. Got it?"

::

The next week, he finds himself in American History, absentmindedly tapping his pen on his desk and barely paying attention to anything his teacher's saying. He knows they're learning about the Civil War and some battle, but now his teacher's handing out some shitty worksheet and he's completely lost.

_Worksheet?_

His teacher says, "Partners or alone."

The word _partner_ sets the entire classroom astir with excitement. He never understands why because it's just another person to do work with. But everyone else thinks of it as "excuse to gossip with friends and text and _not _do work." He frowns, mulling this over. The sounds of desks scraping against the floor barely makes it above the din of chatting students. His teacher isolates herself, burying herself in the computer screen before her.

Instinctively, Chris' gaze falls to Massie.

She's still in the shadows, head over her desk. She doesn't look up.

Lately, they've been talking. More than Kristen would like, but she doesn't know what's going on. Sometimes, he walks to her class; sometimes, he sees her at the store. They've gotten into the habit of not being strangers, but they're not friends. He doesn't know why he's automatically assuming she'd like to work with him – she probably forgot he's in this class.

So, instead of growing a pair and trudging over there to ask if she'd like company, he turns, tail in between his legs, and partners up with his only friend in the class, Kemp Hurley.

Kemp's the kind of guy who knows exactly when a joke is needed. He can ease the tension _anywhere_. Kristen doesn't like him because he dated Claire back in tenth grade and then dumped her when she got too high maintenance. That's why he's no longer in their friend group, but it looks like he doesn't care in the slightest. With friends like Landon Crane and Todd Lyons, Claire's twin, he doesn't need the rest of them.

He notices Chris' expression, but doesn't make a comment. Instead, he reads the first question out loud, asks his partner if he knows what it means at all, and laughs when Chris says he doesn't. They work like that for a while, continuously inquiring about battles and famous generals, but never anything else, until Kemp brings it up.

Chris thinks he should have known it was going to happen. After all, Kemp _did_ look over in the general direction of Massie's seat, and Chris followed his gaze, and sort of stared for a while. She was completed with her sheet when he looked at her, reading some novel, curled up in her seat.

"You know, you could have asked her. I wouldn't have been offended."

Chris tries to keep an indifferent look on his face, but his red cheeks give him away. Fuck. When did he start getting so obvious? But instead, he merely replies, in what he hopes to be a smooth manner: "Who?"

Kemp rolls his eyes. "Massie, you fuck."

He feels his throat close up the teeniest bit. "What about her?"

"Dude. I know you wanted to work with her. I know you want to, like, _be _with her –"

"_B-be_?" Chris stammers, palms sweaty. "Kemp, man, I'm _dating _Kristen, in case you forgot…" But why – oh why – is he reacting like this? Shitshitshitfuckfuckfuck.

"That's not what I meant, loser." Kemp eyes him carefully. "But I think your subconscious is telling you something. I'm not going to dictate what that is because, quite frankly, I'm not you. I do know, though, that you're extremely enticed by her. Are you not?" Chris doesn't answer him, blinking stupidly and rubbing his hands on his jeans. "I'm taking the silence as a yes. So why not talk to her?"

"Because…it's not that simple." And Chris feels stupid for saying it, because – to him, at least – it _is_. He just wants someone to understand and he feels embarrassed for it. Just because she's a therapy patient too… that's why he wants to talk to her, be friends with her. It isn't like he wants to date her or anything; if only people would understand that! Kemp, he thinks, gets it a little bit more, that Chris wants some sort of friend, even though he does have Derrick and Cam and they're great. Really. They are. He doesn't know what he would do if he didn't have them.

But Massie… she could possibly _get _him a little more.

If only he wasn't such a pussy.

Kemp rubbed his temples. "It could be that simple if you let it."

The bell rings, ending class, and their teacher yells something about finishing the sheet for homework. Chris shoves his papers in his folder and then that in his backpack and stands up abruptly, hoping to get away from Kemp before he could try to play Matchmaker. His attempts are futile, however, because Kemp's got these awesome reflexes and is already completely ready to leave in the five seconds it took for Chris to stand up.

And when Massie walks by, Kemp shoves him into her, grinning madly when Chris sends him a death glare.

"Watch – oh, hey, Chris."

"Hi," he says. "Did you finish that worksheet?"

She nods. "It was easy, I guess."

Easy? She doesn't know what _easy _is. "Um…I got up to question five."

Massie laughs and he finds himself thinking it sounds like a bird's song or tinkling bells. He relishes in it. It makes him feel carefree, reminds him of better times. "Do you want mine? I don't care if you copy it. You'll get an incomplete if you don't."

"I couldn't – I'll do it at home," he promises.

"We both know that's a lie, _Plovert_." The way she speaks his name sends tingles down his spine and he's not quite sure why. "Just take it. I don't need it."

He can't take it from her though. He really can't. He doesn't know why he's refusing it. He knows that he's not going to do it – but he can't just reach out and pull that paper out of her hands.

"Come on. I won't bite."

_Unless I want you to_, he thinks absentmindedly. Then, after realizing what he's just thought, he shakes his head, shuddering at the way he sounds: like a horny teenager. Which he really isn't, in case anyone was wondering. Really. That thought was unintentional. It just… _popped _in his head.

Okay. Maybe he should just stop thinking.

"No," he replies, nose still wrinkled. Fuck. Stop _thinking_, he berates himself. _Stop. Fucking. Thinking_. And so, for a moment, he does, and when he does that, this comes out: "How about this – you and I go to that tea place after school and help me with it? Lord knows I need a tutor for this subject. I thought we were learning about the Civil War."

Once it registers in his brain what he really said, he immediately wishes to take it back. She's staring at him quizzically and he realizes that they're at her locker now. Why did he do that? Why why why why.

He feels idiotic. He shouldn't have done that. It sounds like he wants to –

"Sure," she answers.

Sure.

SURE.

_Sure._

He doesn't know why he's celebrating in his head right now. It's nothing more than Massie teaching him that they're actually learning about the reconstruction of America after the war and not the actual event. It's not like he's pining after her or anything and she's finally agreed to date him. It's nothing. Just a study date. Emphasis on the _study_.

"Okay. Cool." He grins sheepishly. "I'll meet you here after tenth period?"

She nods in agreement, holding a hot pink notebook and a _Glee_ folder. "You're paying for my tea, I hope you know that." And with one last amused look, she saunters off, slipping down the hallway.

Chris stands there for a while.

It's just a study date.

But he's paying for her drink.

Emphasis on the _date_ now?


	6. six

**This chapter is kind of fast, but that's the point. Sometimes things like this happen really fast.**

**I've estimated this story to be about 25-28 chapters and when I'm finished writing it all out, the updates will be on a certain day every week :) and then I can start to plan out other things!**

**Thank you for the reviews and I'm glad you like the story! I think I've given up on trying to reply to each review, but I will try to do it this time around... so all you have to do is leave one!**

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><p>The entire day seemed to go <em>so slowly<em>. Or that's what Chris likes to think.

After making his study date – he decided more emphasis on the _study_ portion was necessary. This was _not_ a date-date – he had to go off to pre-calculus, the bane of his existence, where he got a test back. Surprisingly enough, the manila folder his teacher uses to hold their exams was covered in one lone smiley face sticker. He had gotten a ninety-nine as a final grade. Ms. Wagner dropped it on his desk, smiled, and merely said: "Keep up the good work, Chris."

Needless to say, that brightened his day a tad bit more.

Following that class, he headed towards lunch, where he had to listen to Kristen gabber on and on about something or other, probably clothes or some girl that looked at her the wrong way. He didn't really care. Derrick asked him if he did the English homework, and Cam asked if basketball practice was canceled. The answers, respectively: no, yes.

After lunch, he and Derrick went off to English. Their teacher didn't even ask for their work, so they were in the clear. Then government class and cooking went on _forever_. Literally. Forever. He was miserable.

He doesn't think he ever raced out of a classroom as quickly as he did when the final bell rang.

So now he finds himself at Massie's locker, cleverly avoiding his friends and Skye's curious glare. She pulls her coat on and reaches down to pick up her bag, but Chris gets there before her. Tossing it over his shoulder, he turns to leave when Massie's voice sounds.

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, facing her once again. All he wants is help in school… there's nothing wrong with that, right?

She bites her lip, though, in that uncomfortable way that he possesses. "It's just… with Kristen and all – she _is _your girlfriend and everything. I feel like this is a little inappropriate. Considering everything."

The way she says it all with some underlying worry and hesitance bothers him. He knows exactly what 'considering everything' means. If Kristen had not cornered her in the bathroom and tormented her (at least that's what Skye and Alicia say happened, and Kristen still looks proud of her accomplishments), she wouldn't think twice about tutoring him. _Tutoring _him. He just needs some things explained. It'll be fine. He knows it.

"I think you're overthinking," he replies slowly, formulating a good response equipped with a killer argument to defend it. His brain works hard and fast, but, sadly, he's shit at debating and he draws a complete blank. "It's just studying. I need help. Kristen won't do anything."

"Can't Kristen help you? I heard she was really smart…"

Chris tightens his grip on her bag, suddenly conscious of the weight it was pulling down on his shoulder. "_Used_ to be smart," he corrects. "Things – changed. She's not the same as she used to be in ninth grade."

"I'm sure if you ask her, she'll be able to give something to you," offers Massie. "I don't think you really need me for this."

"But I do," he blurts out quickly. She stares at him quizzically and that familiar feeling of nausea hits him. He's gotten into the habit of saying stupid things around her or not thinking before he speaks and he doesn't know why. Now he has to fix it all because he sounds creepy or something and he probably looks like some retard or a fish out of water, really, because using the word 'retard' isn't the proper word to describe him. And it's offensive to people with mental disabilities. It's rude, too, and he hates when people use it to paint a picture of stupid people, things, situations… and he's rambling. In his head. Great.

But he does need her. He really does.

"She wouldn't be able to help me," he finally reasons, "because she's not really the right person. I can't take advice from her… it's like when an older brother or sister tries to help their younger sibling and they can't learn from them for some reason. She won't help. That's why I need you to help me."

It's probably the worst excuse he could think of, but her face seems to soften a little and her eyes aren't so guarded anymore. Why had she tried to back out of it anyway? Kristen better not have gotten to her… Skye would kick his ass if she did.

"Okay," she agrees. "But are you sure Kristen won't get mad? She knows, right?"

Chris nods quickly and Massie eases up, following him out of the school. They enter the cold outdoors and he immediately searches his pockets for his car keys, hoping he doesn't get spotted by Kristen.

She doesn't exactly know he's going to that new tea place. Not like she'd ever want to go there; she thinks tea is below her and far too British for her liking. He doesn't understand what that means, but it doesn't really matter. He won't bump into her there. With Massie. Whom of which she immensely dislikes.

And knowing his girlfriend, she'll be _furious _when she finds out he went out with Massie on the equivalent of a date. He can already picture her in all of her angriness, turning a blotchy red.

He doesn't really care what she'll think.

::

The Cup is different than any other establishment Chris has been at.

It's bright and welcoming with glass tables in the main entrance with little boxy green chairs. Trees and other plants, real or fake, are lined against the walls. There's even a small flower on each table. Through the left doorway is darker, booths are scarce around here and there are other tables with mismatched beanbag chairs. Bookshelves line the walls, full of what look like classic literatures and even possibly newer ones that anyone would like to read. Chris kind of likes it.

Massie pulls him towards a booth because "beanbags won't help with studying." He follows anyway because her enthusiasm for this place is so cute and he can't help but be a little excited to try out whatever's on the menu.

Someone comes to them immediately, hands them the tea and desserts list, and says they'll be back in a few. Chris peruses through them before deciding the Fireplace Tea sounds really good, especially since it's fucking freezing out, and pie might be okay. He's not sure if he wants to eat or not.

He's also not sure if he should say anything to Massie.

He feels kind of awkward again. The initial exhilaration of going somewhere with someone who's not his girlfriend wore off. Does he talk to her? Does he just ask to start studying? He's not very good with these things – he's never deliberately asked someone his girlfriend hates to help him study before.

It turns out that he doesn't have to: Massie starts to speak.

"I have a question," she begins, carefully placing her menu back down. He wants to ask what she's getting but refrains. She slowly looks at him, almost studies him, before going on again. "Why do you suddenly want to be like friends with me?"

Not _like _friends, he thinks, _friends._ He wants to be friends.

"Like, why are you suddenly interested in talking to me?"

Chris tries to keep his poker face, but he's positive it falls after she says that. Skye and Alicia must have gotten to her after their little chat at the supermarket. She doesn't look angry or anything, just curious…

And you know what they say about curiosity. It killed the cat.

She can't know why he wants to be around her so badly yet. They never bring up Dr. Loni when they talk to each other. Never. It's basically unspoken that you _don't _mention it.

"I…um… just…" He can't formulate any response. He's stuck. He stammers and sounds like a fool, but at least he keeps eye contact, right? Maybe that's not such a good idea because now he feels like drowning.

That's probably not a good way to describe what's going on right now, but she's just so… _different _from everything else he knows. So if he really is going to drown, he'd rather like it if he was drowning with her. Because she's so different and – yeah – pretty and something kind of like he is: broken.

Maintaining eye contact isn't a good idea. He feels kind of tingly all over. All she's doing is staring at him, her big eyes blinking in intervals and her pink lips closed curiously. She's not leaving, though, even though he hasn't answered her.

And then it happens – the one thing that he wanted to never bring up.

"Is it because I barged in on you during your session with Dr. Loni?" she asks, voice lower than a whisper. "Are you mad at me or something and want to make the rest of my life miserable?"

If only he could choke on his tea or something. But he doesn't have tea.

"No," he answers hoarsely. "I just wanted to get to know you, that's all."

She's not buying it. "You've had most of our schooling to do that, Chris. It's eleventh grade. I don't get it."

He stares at her like _please please stop _but she doesn't get the memo. He answers anyway. "I just wanted to help you when you couldn't carry your books! I don't get why everyone thinks that's weird I'm not –"

"_Chris._"

"No, that's the real answer, I'm a nice guy, everyone thinks I'm like Satan or something because of Kristen –"

"Please?"

" – and I'm not! I hate everything she does to everyone. It's not nice! _She's _not nice…"

"Can you please just tell me?"

The desperation in her voice kills him and all of his defenses fly out the window. "I was just interested," he begins, eyes looking firmly down at his fingers. "Because I was there and you were there and maybe for once I wouldn't feel so weird for going there because someone else did. Someone else that went to school with me so I wanted to be friends so I could get to know you and feel like I wasn't weird, I don't know, and then I saw you everywhere so I talked to you. Now can we study please?"

Massie doesn't respond, only nods once when he looks up at her from under his lashes.

He gets his worksheet out and the waiter comes back and they order their things. She teaches him about all the presidents and the reconstruction plans and they fill out his worksheet. It's five thirty when they finally leave and he offers to drive her home, but she refuses because she lives only five minutes away.

She walks away before he can say anything and he hopes she isn't afraid of him or something because he is kind of creepy.

With his sheet in one hand and his car keys in another, he trudges dejectedly to his car. Once inside safely, he throws the paper on to the passenger seat when something on it catches his eye.

Seven numbers are written in the top left corner. Seven. And underneath is: _you can call me if you ever want to talk. I won't bite._


	7. seven

hiii c: i'm up to the epilogue errybody! be proud. i just don't know what to write about. i mean, i have the ending and all, but i need to show you what happened and stuffs so i'm procrastinating that until i absolutely have to write it.

please review! don't just favorite or alert. i want to know your thoughts!

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><p><strong>through the fire and flames<br>**_seven_

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><p>Lunch the next day starts off differently than any other. Kristen's late, which is odd because she's always on time to sit in the cafeteria and <em>not <em>eat. Dylan and Claire kind of look lost without her – that's dumb because they're their own person, you know? Chris hates them. Josh is trying to suck face with Claire, since they're dating and all, but she's refusing and he's getting that stupid look on his face.

The only two people who look completely content are Derrick and Cam. It's nothing out the ordinary. Derrick's staring in the opposite direction; it looks like he's dazing off to the untrained eye, but Chris knows he's cleverly staring over at Skye's table, watching her interact with her friends. He's such a love-struck loser. Cam, on the other hand, is furiously working on his AP English essay. It's about four pages long and Cam looks like he's never going to get it done.

Anyway, Chris feels better that Kristen's not here, even though he knows she'll show up eventually. She's never out of school unless she's absolutely dying of illness. She claims she'll miss out on too much. Never schoolwork-wise, though, just socially. It kills him that that's what she's constantly worried about.

The cafeteria doors open and her two minions look relieved. Their expressions fall when Massie walks in, looking pale and slightly terrified. He catches her eye for a second, but when she notices it's him, she looks away quickly and rushes to her seat.

His heart drops. He thought that she was fine with his wanting to be friends and all. She seemed okay yesterday… Fuck. She really doesn't want to be friends with someone as weird and unstable as he is. He should've known. Fuck fuck fuck.

Again the doors open and Kristen struts in, an intimidating smirk gracing her features. Normally he'd find this semi-attractive, because she is pretty but she's not as pretty as she used to be. She's all makeup and expensive outfits. He misses the mascara and simple jean combos she used to wear.

"You will _never _guess what I just saw." She giggles. Dylan and Claire immediately look excited.

Cam doesn't even look up and Derrick's eye sort of moves to look at her, but then he decides he doesn't care and looks away. Josh is still pouting because Claire won't kiss him.

"So I went to the bathroom before this, right?" Kristen starts. "And I was about to touch up my makeup and everything because gym _ruins_ it and all." She doesn't even participate in gym – what the hell. "When I heard someone making unattractive noises. So being the concerned person I am, I knocked on the stall door. It was unlocked, so it sort of opened, and I saw the most _delicious _piece of gossip!"

Dylan leans forward almost as if Kristen is pulling her in. Claire looks intrigued. Chris thinks this is stupid.

"What'd you see?"

"Tell us!"

Kristen waits for a second or two longer before she speaks again. Chris remembers she used to say that it was for dramatic purposes only, but he knows she's milking this attention right now.

"I saw…" She pauses again, her smirk widening. "Massie Block."

He blinks. Derrick glances over at him, aware of the fact that he's been sort of talking to her and she helped his grade in American History rise after that homework because he actually gets it now. Cam's still scribbling away on his essay, but he kicks him in the leg.

His friends know too much about him. Honestly.

"Yeah… and?" Claire asks, suddenly bored.

Chris takes a long drink from his water bottle. His throat feels dry and scratchy. Of course Massie's got like some boyfriend or something and they were in the bathroom. That's the weirdest place to make out in this school, but whatever. She's pretty enough to have someone who wants to date her… Why the hell is he even thinking these things? He has a girlfriend. He has Kristen. She's great, he guesses, but if she eased up a bit he'd like her a lot more.

"She had two fingers down her throat and was forcing herself to throw up." Kristen's smirk turns into an animalistic grin. "She's _bulimic_, guys!"

And that's when Chris spits out his water.

On to Kristen's new shirt.

And, get this, she isn't even _mad._ She merely wipes it off and looks at him in amusement. "I know! That's how I felt!" But she doesn't really get how he feels because now everything makes sense in his head. Every little thing. "To think that someone in our school actually had an eating disorder! You'd think it would be someone who was actually pretty though…"

Chris barely hears her insult, seventy million things running through his head. That's why Massie's at the therapist. Her parents caught her. That's why she needs to write in a journal. She needs to write what she eats and Dr. Loni needs to see it every session. And her throwing up before lunch makes sense because she was eating in American History: a little cup of Cheerios that the cafeteria lets you buy in the morning. She had banana pieces in it too. He remembers because he stole one.

_Fuck_.

He looks over at her table, but her back's to him and Skye's glaring. Alicia's patting her back but she looks kind of disappointed. Chris' lip reading skills are shit so he can only make out Alicia saying, "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay." Nothing else.

He wants to go over there and talk to her, but he doesn't know how. Kristen's gushing over this fact and her friends are eating it up. Cam looks like he wants to punch her in the face, because he's the type of guy who hates it when other people make fun of someone with serious disorders and problems. Derrick's coughing and kind of reddening because Skye's looking over at the table.

Nothing else happens during their lunch break.

::

"_Dude_."

"You can't just _ignore _this."

"Hello? Earth to Plovert! _Talk to me!_"

Chris doesn't know why he's ignoring them. He's on some sort of autopilot. Has been ever since lunch. Massie's _bulimic_. He doesn't know what to do. He feels weird knowing the reasoning behind her visits with Dr. Loni. No one should ever know these things unless they're family or really close friends. He's never known anyone else's problems… they've never known his. Now he knows Massie's – his entire table does. And she's completely in the dark.

But she's _bulimic._

He feels idiotic for still being at the therapist because his sister died.

"Chris! Come _on_, man."

"You have to talk to her! She needs to know that you're not going to make fun of her like Kristen will."

Kristen's going to make fun of her… That snaps him out of his daze. "Wait, what?"

Derrick sighs. "You were out of it during lunch, but Kristen and Dylan were planning on making Massie's life a living hell. I tried to get your attention but you looked like a wounded puppy so I left you alone."

"My cousin was bulimic," Cam puts in, "and it's only going to get worse from her, Chris. Once someone in her school knew, she started to throw up more frequently. It got really bad."

Chris bites his lip. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. We're barely even friends!"

"She gave you her number."

"Yeah, just in case I had any other questions about social studies!" Chris closes his locker with such exasperation that the sound reverberates through the entire hall. "I don't think I'm supposed to call her and be like _I heard you're bulimic, hi._"

"Well, that would be stupid," Derrick says. "You need to show her that you're there for her, you know? She needs more than just Skye and Alicia on her side right now. Especially since the two of them can't take on Kristen just by themselves."

"I'm sure she'll believe that I want to help her," Chris shoots back. "She thought I only wanted to talk to her because she interrupted my session with Dr. Loni. She thought I wanted to humiliate her or something…"

Cam frowns. "That's not you, though."

"She doesn't know me! I don't even know _her_."

Derrick fixes him with this really serious stare which is uncharacteristic because Derrick is ever rarely serious. "Then_ get to know her._" It looks like he wants to say more, but he's rendered speechless when Skye rounds the corner with Alicia in tow.

The blonde stops right in front of Chris. Alicia looks kind of intimidated.

"I told you I didn't want your girlfriend bothering Massie again," she snaps.

From what Chris gathered at the supermarket, Alicia would normally say something here. She and Skye probably worked off of each other, but the Latina says nothing, biting her lip. Skye fumbles.

"You did," Chris replies, more smoothly than he feels.

"Then why did it happen again?"

"It wasn't my fault." Chris is surprised by how coolly he's answering these questions. He wants nothing more than to attack her with questions about Massie… but he guesses since his friends are here, he's not going to act so stupid.

Skye's eyes narrow dangerously and Derrick mumbles something next to Chris and backs up, hitting the lockers. "Then why did Massie come into lunch today and say something about _Kristen_?"

"Because she _knows_, Skye."

"Knows what exactly?"

Chris can see the concern flash in her eyes before it disappears completely. He knows she knows but she wants to avoid it entirely. He's ready to answer her, but surprisingly enough, it's Cam that does.

"She told all of us, Skye." The sound of her name coming from his mouth confuses Chris. He realizes that none of them have ever really interacted before. And now… here they are.

"Told all of you _what_?"

"Skye, you know," Alicia finally pipes up, takes her gaze away from Cam, whom of which she had been staring at the entire conversation. "Don't act like you don't."

The blonde looks distraught. "I _don't _know, Leesh! I _don't_!"

"You're in denial more than she is," Alicia whispers, her fingers ghosting against Skye's shoulder. "I know you know… you just don't want to acknowledge it."

Chris feels like he's intruding on a really intimate moment. It seems as if Alicia and Skye _really _know each other. He wonders if Massie fills the gap he can sense between them, if she glues them together in more ways than one.

"I…" Skye starts and he sees it happen before it does. Her eyes water uncertainly and the first tear falls down her cheek. She doesn't even try to wipe it away. "I'm just – _scared_." And her dam breaks: the first sob comes out loudly. "She's my – my best friend and she's been doing this to herself because her m-mother's a bitch and – and – " She hiccups, coughing out another sob. This time her explanation is futile and she dissolves.

Ironically enough, Derrick finally mans up and lets her cry into his chest.

Alicia stares at her for a little while before looking up at Cam and Chris again. "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I… trust you, okay? All of you. Although I don't know why." She swallows. "Things with Massie's parents haven't been stable since God knows when. I'd say ninth grade."

"This has been happening since ninth grade?"

"No," Alicia replies. "Her parents are what you would call the stereotypical White Plains family – rarely-home father, Stepford Wife mother. Her mother was convinced her father was off at work because he was cheating on her with his receptionist, but he was really working hard on some case. He's a lawyer. He works with my dad." She winces at the sounds of her friend's cries, but continues anyway. "She blamed Massie, told her she was worthless, fat, and that's why her father was gone all the time, that's why he hated their family.

"That wasn't the case, though. He loves his family. But it started off slowly from then. She would eat less, slower, so no one would catch her. Then she stopped eating entirely. Her father found out she wasn't eating and told her she needed to. She started up again. That was last year… then in September, her mother flipped again and she started throwing up… her father found her, had a huge blowout with her mother and now she's at the therapist."

Chris is silent as his brain tries to grab everything and really take it in. He feels like he's sunken into the ground. That's probably the worst thing a mother could do to her child… her daughter. He knows he would be nothing without his mom and vice versa – he would never be able to treat her badly.

Cam talks: "She's none of those things her mother says she is though."

"I know," Alicia says, meeting his gaze. "But once they're drilled into you for so long… it's hard to _not _see them. She now thinks she's the biggest girl in this school, that no one really cares. It's hard to see her like that. At least she humors us and eats when we're around and _doesn't _throw up, but I guess she feels uncomfortable now… I'm not sure."

"So it's my fault," Chris speaks up dully.

"_No_." Alicia's voice gets hard. "Don't say that either. She's actually eating more and throwing up less because you've been bothering her. I don't know what you're doing but don't stop. Please."

"Why are you telling us this? Why do you trust us?" Skye seemed to calm down enough for Derrick to ask his question. His shirt is stained with her tears and she's anxiously trying to rub the mascara off of it. He shrugs her off, tells her he can always wash it – it's not even one of his favorites. She bashfully looks down at the floor, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Alicia rubs her forehead. "Out of the seven of you, you three are the only ones who have never made fun of us."

"Made fun of you?" Cam echoes, furrowing his brows.

She nods. "We don't have a very good history with Dylan and Claire… Kristen, too. Josh is always along for the ride."

"He's a dick. Don't be bothered by him," Cam instantly replies.

"I'm not," Alicia says back sweetly, giving him a small smile. "But Kristen hates me because I used to be two points –"

" – above her GPA. You're the smartest girl in the school," Chris interrupts.

Alicia nods. "So she's constantly out to get me, even though she dropped far down the academic ladder. I think she's just bitter. Dylan used to be really good at art. The best at her middle school. Then Skye came along with art schools interested in her work in the ninth grade and she instantly detested her – that's why she's so interested in clothes. That's the only way she can show off her true artistic abilities anymore. She gave up when someone was better than her. And Claire… she used to be best friends with Massie. They got into a falling out when Claire tried to drag her to the top of the food chain after Landon Crane became best friends with her brother, Todd, and was interested in her. Massie wasn't and refused to become one of those 'stuck-up snobs' and Claire immediately dropped her, focusing on making her life a living hell.

"And you three haven't bothered with us at all. It's nice."

The air around them is slightly awkward but it's broken in less than a minute when Derrick announces that he's _always _hated Dylan and Claire, which is contradicted by Cam, who always likes to remind him that he dated Claire for six months in ninth grade. Derrick likes to forget that happened.

Skye giggles slightly, her tears stopped. The only indication that something went down is the red color of her face. Alicia grabs her hand and squeezes. Chris finds himself grateful that Massie has friends like these. He's glad that Massie refused Claire's offer of popularity. He isn't sure he'd like her if she were just like them.

"Come on," Derrick says, grabbing his back off the floor. "I can give you guys a ride home. It's really cold out."

"Don't you have basketball practice or something?" Skye counters.

He shrugs. "We can skip. It'll give Josh the opportunity to think he's actually really good at something."

Out of habit, Chris picks Alicia's bag off the ground and hoists it up on his shoulder, adamantly not allowing her to carry it. She refuses, trying to pull it off, when Cam grabs her hand and chuckles, telling her that this is who Chris is and he's probably the only guy in this school that will ever willingly carry a girl's things.

She lets him be, but tells him the next time he does it to tell her in advance. Her textbooks are _heavy_.

He and Cam share a look when they see Derrick and Skye a good distance ahead of them. She's speaking animatedly with her hands and he's acting as if he's really interested. They can't see his face, so they're not sure what he's doing.

In between them, Alicia giggles, watching their interaction. "You know she likes him, right?"


	8. eight

you guys are awesome. seriously. :3

here's the next chapter for you all! and, since a lot of you have been telling me how you like skye and derrick together, you can check out my story based solely around them—_ignite your bones_. shameless advertising on my part but oh, well.

enjoyyyyy!

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><p><strong>through the fire and flames<br>**_eight_

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><p><em>Can<em>_ we talk?_

He hesitates even though he knows he should send it. His thumb hovers over the 'enter' button. He's not sure if he's pushing here or crossing some line. Alicia thinks he'll be able to help her. That's what he's riding on. So, without really thinking of the consequences, he forces himself to get that text to Massie and waits.

Surprisingly enough, the car ride home had been entertaining. Once past the well-noted awkwardness and the massive concern of Kristen vs. Massie, the five of them had actually enjoyed each other's company. Skye, being a jerk, had called shotgun because the rest of them had taken too long to get to Derrick's car, had messed with the radio and forced them all to listen to really shitty remixes of really shitty songs. Alicia had wiggled into the middle of the backseat, pestering Chris about her backpack for the fiftieth time. Derrick and Cam kept getting into little fights over the things they did in the past: popular topic being dating Claire Lyons. Cam always got a kick out of that.

When they finally dropped the girls off, Alicia made Chris promise to talk to Massie about what was going on. She has faith that he'll be able to get her out of her funk.

And when the three boys were alone, Cam asked, "Why don't we hang out with _them_?"

Now Chris is sitting in his bed, wondering why they didn't. During the short time they spent with Skye and Alicia, there was nothing awkward. Nothing was high-maintenance. Nothing was _how is my hair, my outfit, my shoes? _Nothing was _wait you think I look fat? _It was everything they liked.

Not to mention the fact that Derrick actually _talked _to Skye. Cam and Chris made sure to tease him endlessly about this although they made a silent vow to avoid telling him that his little crush liked him back. That was something he had to figure out on his own.

_Why? _

Chris swallows. He doesn't know how to go about this considering she has no idea Alicia told him – and his friends – everything. He feels awkward again and hates that this feeling is what is used to describe every situation he's been in lately.

_We just need to talk. _

_Okay._

_Meet me at the park in ten? _

_Sure._

Chris throws himself back on his bed, covering his eyes with his arm. He thinks he probably should have thought about what he's going to say before he asked her to meet him. This probably isn't going to work out the way her friends think it will because Massie's impulsive. He sees that much.

So he does the only thing he can think of. He goes to find his mother. She's in the kitchen, making dinner. It looks like chicken but smells like homemade tomato sauce. She looks up and smiles; his heart tugs a little and he wishes they could be this happy all the time, not because of drugs and other things to occupy their time.

The only way that would happen is if there were another person, one three years younger than him, living in this house. But there isn't and they'll never get past it.

"Hey, baby," she greets. "Can you grab me that oregano?"

He tosses the spice in her direction and she catches it, sprinkling some in the sauce. He watches in semi-interest. Cooking's kind of interesting.

"Mom," he starts. "I have a question."

"Shoot." She starts cutting up the chicken, expertly maneuvering the knife to do her bidding. When she stops, he wipes the flour off her face. She smiles a bit. "Come on, Chris. I don't bite."

He sighs, seating himself across from her. "What am I supposed to say to someone who's bulimic?"

"Is this about Kristen? Because if that girl's bulimic, I'm sorry to say I wouldn't be surprised."

"Oh, _God_ no!" Chris exclaims. "No. It's not about her. It's about… well…"

His mother stops chopping up other little things and looks at him. "Is there another girl in the picture, honey?" She doesn't even sound angry or upset at him. She just looks curious.

"Well, yes, there's another girl but not like that," Chris replies, confused. "She… her name's Massie. Massie Block."

"Her father's that impressive lawyer, isn't he?"

Chris nods. "And we sort of met at Dr. Loni's office and now we're sort of friends but Kristen found out that she's been throwing up her food and her friends think I can help her… so I asked if we could talk later and now I don't know what to say and I have five minutes to get to the park."

"Well, you can't force something upon her, I suppose," his mother says, resuming her work. "You can only tell her that you're there for her and so are her friends and that there's no reason for her to be doing this to her body. She has to know that this is her body forever and for always and she's stuck in it – there's no point in doing any harm." She pauses to drop some things in the sauce. "That's just what I think, though. What you _must _do… you mustn't infer that she needs to do this. That will make things worse. And if you want to help her, prove it."

"Thanks, Mom," he says softly, kissing her on the cheek. "I'll be home soon."

"If you want, you can always invite her over afterwards!" his mother calls as the door closes behind him.

The ride over to the park is short but unnerving. Even though he talked to his mom, Chris still has no idea what he's going to say to Massie. He doesn't want to rat out her friends either because he doesn't know what her reaction to everything will be. He makes a mental note to avoid speaking of Alicia and Skye.

When he finally parks his car and walks into the old playground, he spots her sitting on a swing, all bundled up in her winter coat and scarf. Her hands are covered in mittens, clinging to the chains that hold the seat to the metal bar above her head. A cool wind freezes his ears, but he presses on, his stomach in knots.

He finally reaches her and she makes no sign of noticing him. He's deliberating on what to say, different lines to open up with, when she finally speaks.

"The last time I was here, I was twelve." She spins herself slightly, still avoiding his gaze. "In the beginning of the year. Claire and I used to come here to swing after school almost every day. She was telling me about the classes she was in now – we weren't in any that year, surprisingly." Chris watches her grip on the chains get tighter and he wishes he could take her hand in his. "She told me how she became friends with Allie-Rose Singer, the most popular girl in school. I don't know if you remember her. She moved in eighth grade."

He wants to tell her he does because he had a massive crush on her throughout sixth and seventh grade, but he doesn't want to ruin her reverie. He just decides to listen instead.

"That was the last time I ever saw Claire. Except for the time she wanted me to hook up with Landon Crane because he liked me." Massie turns towards Chris, digging her feet into the ground. "I'm guessing Alicia told you that story."

"W-what?" he stammers back. How did she…? "N-no… that's the first time I've heard it…"

Massie smiles softly. "It's okay, Chris. I'm not mad at her. And I'm not mad at you for doing this." She kicks him gently. "She told me you would."

"She asked me to," he mumbles. "I had this all planned out. I even talked to my mom so I knew what to say… but I guess that's pointless now." He sighs, looking out into the darkening sky. The pinks and blues and oranges mix together and create the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I'm sorry, though. I'm sorry that Kristen found you."

_I'm sorry that it wasn't me._

"I was stupid," Massie murmurs, pushing herself lightly and forcing the swing's movements. "I should've waited until I got home, but then again, I didn't want to worry about potentially getting caught by my dad again."

"Why do you do it?" Chris asks, covering his freezing hands with his sleeves. "Alicia told me… I don't think you need… you're – you're –"

"Thank you," she responds, able to infer what he can't say. "Things are hard, I guess. That's why I do it. I don't mean to do it all the time but when I… my mom says I'm not the daughter she wants, really, that I cause so many problems. I think if I do this and look perfect, she'll love me the way I want her to… my dad hates her for this."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he blurts unconsciously.

Massie stops her swing. "For the same reason you don't tell me why you go to the therapist. It's something we like to hide."

Chris opens his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue. _My sister died. _Massie laughs slightly. "Just because you know something about me doesn't mean you need to tell me something about you. Don't hurry yourself."

"But – are you going to be okay?"

"I'm trying," she tells him. He doesn't feel uncomfortable with this conversation like he thought he would be. "It's on old habit. It's so easy to eat whatever I want and then throw it back up. I can't just break it cold turkey. It takes time."

"Let me help you," he insists. "I can help."

"That's sweet, Chris, but I can't ask you to do that."

"_Please_."

Massie shakes her head. "I – it's already too much for me. It'd be too much for you."

"Then let me take some of the pressure off," he whispers. At this point, he's moved so close to her, kneeling by her side.

She looks over at him and reaches her hand out, brushing her thumb against his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly and when he opens them again, she says, "I really can't ask you to worry about me."

_I want to I want to I want to I want to. _

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks. "I just… want to. It doesn't matter what you can or can't ask me to do." He pauses. "Alicia thinks I can help you."

"She really needs to keep her mouth shut sometimes." Chris shakes his head at her, but she keeps talking. "Dr. Loni's got this covered, Chris. I don't need you to think I can't help myself."

"I _don't_," he replies quickly, forcefully. "I think you just need an extra hand, someone to cheer you on. Coming from experience, I know it really helps." He thinks about his mom and how he's always there to bring her back on her feet after a devastatingly long fall. "Let me be that person for you."

She swallows, avoiding his gaze again. "If that's what you really want to do…" she trails off and grabs his pinky with her mitten, squeezing lightly. "Okay."

He gets the strange urge to kiss her right then and there, but pushes it to the side.

::

He takes his mom up on that offer.

At first, Massie's apprehensive, but after a few of his mother's more hilarious stories, she's more than ready to meet her. She even tells him she'll try to keep her food digested for longer than an hour or so. He wishes she'd keep it in her stomach all day, but he guesses it's progress and agrees.

"Your house is so pretty," she remarks, sliding through the front door easily. "I like the colors."

He's never really stopped to look at the way his house is decorated, but it is at that point that he realizes his home is really cozy and comfortable with the reds and oranges and browns. His mother never wanted to treat the place she lived as a piece to be careful around.

"Thank you," he says politely. "I can take your coat if you want."

She smiles, slipping out of her pea coat and shoving her scarf and mittens in the pockets. He hangs it up in the closet and grabs her hand, avoiding the tingly sensation that moves throughout his palm. They stay like that for a second before he remembers his idea to show her the rest of the house. Grinning sheepishly, he pulls her slightly and walks through the living room.

He doesn't get very far before his mother leaves the kitchen. "Chris? How was the –" She looks up and notices Massie. "_Oh_!" she exclaims, wiping her hands on her apron. "Hello, dear, you must be Massie. I'm Charlotte."

"It's really nice to meet you, Charlotte," Massie says kindly. "I think your house is gorgeous."

Chris' mom blushes, smiling prettily. "Thank you, honey. I do hope you're here for dinner. It's just finished!"

Massie nods. "It smells great."

"You're really working your charm in the flattery department right now," Chris whispers in her ear. She shivers. "Are you cold?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Massie answers. "And I'm not working any _charm_." She slaps his shoulder. "I'm being nice. That's what you're supposed to do around parents, silly."

He shrugs his shoulders and leads her to the bathroom. "Wash your hands here. My mom's a stickler for being clean and ready for family dinner."

Massie laughs. "My grandma's that way too."

He hears the faucet running shortly after she closes the door behind her. Before he can sit and wait for her, his mother calls him in from the kitchen to help him clean up before they eat.

"You didn't tell me she was so pretty, Christopher!" she berates him. "Is she eating with us?"

"She said she would. I'm not sure how it will go, though."

"She's much nicer than Kristen is. I like her."

Massie comes into the kitchen moments after his mother speaks and all Chris can think is _me too_.

Dinner goes by without a hitch. Nothing's dropped about his dead sister or her bulimia. They have a normal meal with Massie telling all these stories about her father (never her mother). One time, he tried to put Christmas lights on the roof in July because he wanted some spirit for once and ended up getting tangled in them all and walked into their house decorated like a Christmas tree.

She even manages to eat her entire helping and never once excuses herself to go to the bathroom. Chris hopes it's more than just being polite in someone else's house and that she's honestly trying to keep this down.

Then his mom pulls out a cake she made earlier in the day for dessert and Massie eats that too. Chris doesn't know why he's noticing all these things or why he's so happy. For all he knows, she's going to go home, lock her bathroom door and hug the toilet until her food is a regurgitated mush in front of her.

Massie says she ought to be getting home at around seven because she's got homework, some essay in English – the same one Cam's been working on. He grabs his keys, refusing to let her walk in the cold, and they both pile into his car.

It takes a while for it to heat up and during that time period, Massie tells him how to get to her house. It's not that far from where they are now, just a few blocks and a busy road away.

"Thank you," she says when they're outside her house. It's literally the hugest thing he's ever seen. "For everything."

She kisses him on the cheek before he can reply and hurries through her front door, never looking back.


	9. nine

welp. here's this chapter! i'm on hiatus with everything but this currently because i suck /:

&this chapter is short but importante!

review?

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><p><strong>through the fire and flames<strong>  
><em>nine<em>

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><p>Chris hears a lot of things when he walks through the halls. It's all accidental, really, because he doesn't go around eavesdropping on everyone's conversations. He doesn't give two shits about anything the people in this school have to say.<p>

He sometimes finds out about secret relationships. The other day, he was strolling out of Economics and happened to walk right into a conversation between Carrie Randolph and Strawberry who were discussing how Carrie and Griffin Hastings were hooking up. He even found out that the school slut banged that new, totally hot global studies teacher last week. He has a lot of knowledge about his peers, things he really doesn't want to know.

(Landon Crane's mommy fucked Dean Don to let her son in. Apparently poor Landon has shit grades and needed more than daddy's money to get to go to Briarwood.)

So it doesn't surprise him when he turns the corner and ends up listening in on a hushed discussion that probably should've been held in a more private setting.

"You—you _slut_!"

"I told you I was sorry," one voice responds, almost angrily, but extremely defensive. "It just happened, okay? I wasn't thinking."

Someone else snorts. "Obviously not or you would have thought about the consequences."

"Can we not get into a fist fight right here?" a third voice asks. It kind of sounds like Dylan, but Chris can't be sure because every girl here has that nasally-Valley-Girl voice. "I just got my nails done."

"Well, if she thought before she completely destroyed our friendship, maybe I wouldn't kick her into next Tuesday!"

Chris frowns. Girl drama, although it may be entertaining, is always obnoxious because they normally just slap at each other with their eyes closed and never make actually contact. This sounds abnormal and Chris realizes he only knows one girl who is strong-willed and tough—she was raised in a house mainly of boys—enough to throw a punch. _Claire_. It has to be her talking right now.

"It was a _mistake_. I can't stress that enough. I was drunk."

"Drunk doesn't mean _shit_. Although it impairs your thought process, I'm pretty sure you'd be able to figure out that it was _my boyfriend_ that was ripping your clothes off. You don't even drink enough to get drunk."

"There's a first time for everything!"

"Yeah? I noticed." The angry voice pauses, breathes deeply, and continues. "How would you like it if I seduced your boyfriend and had him sleep with me?"

"_No_!"

"Exactly."

_Wait a second…_ Chris chews on his lower lip thoughtfully, closing his eyes for a brief moment. That voice that's paired with Claire's sounds a lot like Kristen's…

The Dylan voice pipes up again: "What I don't understand is why you didn't just have sex with your boyfriend…"

"Oh, yes! Please _enlighten_ us!"

"I—"

"Did you want to be awesome for him? Did you want some _practice_ so you took my boyfriend and used him to figure it all out? You're always preaching to the choir about how you want to wait for someone you _love_, but looks like you're a fucking _hypocrite_. You can't make any excuses now—go fuck your boyfriend. I'll know if you don't." There's a loud bang as if a locker door is closing. "Let's go."

Heels reverberate against the cold tile floor and Chris finds himself feeling a bit overwhelmed. He doesn't know what he just walked into, but it makes him feel uncomfortable. It confuses him because he thinks they sounded like Claire, Dylan, and Kristen, but when he finally walks into that hallway, he only sees his girlfriend rounding the other corner and traipsing over to her locker.

No one else is there. Just the two of them.

Shaking his head, he rationalizes that he must've just imagined it being those three girls. After all, everyone sounds like a chipmunk in this school.

Kristen's looking especially pretty today in her floral babydoll dress and tights. She looks almost the way she used to, with her blonde hair held back by a black headband. He sighs, wishing she'd always wear things like this, but he knows by tomorrow she'll be wearing some obnoxiously dramatic and fashionable outfit. Today is most likely laundry day and she had nothing else to wear.

"Hi, baby." She greets him with a kiss to rival all kisses, hot and full of some sort of determination. Chris grips her by her hips and pulls her closer to him, reciprocating just as enthusiastically as she is. "How's your day going?"

"It's going." Chris shrugs. "At least I don't have that many classes left."

Kristen smiles at him, fluffing her hair in her little mirror. "I wanted to ask your opinion on something… I don't think I want to do those weekly dinners anymore. They're starting to get annoying and my homework is piling up lately which means I'll actually have to do it… Thoughts?"

"Yes," Chris blurts. "That's great. I hated those anyway."

She giggles softly, closing her locker door. "Great. Well… since it's Thursday and all, and we don't have a dinner to go to… I was wondering if you'd like to do something with me?"

"I… I have to do—" He tries to tell he's got therapy tonight at seven-thirty, but he falters when she runs her fingers down his chest, stopping at the zipper of his jeans, her thumb practically right on top of his bulge. He swallows.

"My parents aren't going to be home tonight," she whispers, looking at him from under her lashes. "I was thinking…"

Chris clears his throat. "Yeah. Um, sure. Sounds cool."

"Great. My house at seven?" He nods dumbly. "Don't be late."

And after placing a kiss on his temple, Kristen saunters off, leaving her boyfriend alone to groan loudly and walk off in the opposite direction.

The _things_ she does to him.

::

Chris skips his session with Dr. Loni.

He spends an hour fixing his hair because Kristen always says it falls stupidly and why won't he use some sort of product to keep his curls tame? He finds out quickly gel is god's idea of a sick joke and showers for the fifth time that day.

He feels like such a girl for standing in front of his mirror for so long, but this is probably the most exciting thing to happen all month and he needs to make sure Kristen will go through with it. She's the type of person to throw it out the window if he looks like a moron. He figures this flannel shirt he pulled out of his closet and jeans are a fine look for her. He hopes, really.

At five minutes to seven, he tells his mother he's leaving early to get coffee—which is a lie because he _hates _coffee—and she tells him to have a nice time with Dr. Loni.

He says he will _definitely _have a nice time. (Just not with Dr. Loni.)

He gets to Kristen's at exactly six-fifty-nine and rings her doorbell, fidgeting and playing with his fingers. He hopes this wasn't her idea of getting him to cuddle with her because he'd actually be really annoyed. You don't just say one thing, get his dick all excited, and then take it back. That's not how things _work_.

But when his girlfriend opens the door with that little coy smile on her face, he knows she's not backing out of this.

_Thank God._

She grabs his hand, pulling him wordlessly upstairs and to her bedroom. He's been here before—they've had pretty awesome make out sessions here—but somehow, it feels different. It's still the same mixture of blues, swirled and "tastefully painted" as she likes to say. Nothing's changed… and yet he feels like everything has.

Then he realizes all of this thinking is making him sound stupid so he stops comparing the way her room is decorated to the way his penis feels.

After closing her door, she turns around and kisses him softly. She pulls away, her hand on his cheek, gently rubbing circles into his skin with her thumb.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks quietly, playing with the hemline of her shirt.

_Please say yes please say yes please say yes_

Kristen contemplates this for a minute and he feels the weight of the world drop on his shoulders. "Yes," she finally says after a moment. "Of course I do." She places a kiss on his nose and the world is held once again by the forces of gravity.

He feels kind of awkward again because he doesn't really know how she wants to go about this. He doesn't want to make her angry so she'll just stop, which is why he's glad when she starts to unbutton his shirt, her hands roaming all over his chest as she does so.

"Have I ever told you how much I love your abs?" she whispers, eyes trained on the six pack he literally had worked his ass of for.

"Not as often as I would like," he grins roguishly and she laughs, crawling on top of him and pushing him down on her bed.

And just like every sexual experience, it happens as one would happen. It's not like they anticipated, it wasn't full of love like people wish. It's a physical action in which two people come together as one—it's quick, it could potentially hurt.

When it's over, Kristen snuggles herself into his side. Her sweaty forehead is the only evidence that anything actually happened. He can feel her breathing slow down until she's asleep and he yawns, checking the clock. He assumes a nap won't hurt and eventually, he's out cold next to her.

But when he wakes up at three in the morning and has fourteen missed calls from his mother, Chris figures that a nap probably wasn't one of his better ideas and kisses Kristen on the forehead before he slips out of her house and back home.

His mother yells at him when he enters the living room, tells him he's extremely irresponsible, and that he better get his ass up for school on his own because there's no way in hell she'll do it tomorrow morning.

He doesn't care though because _dude_, he just got laid.


	10. ten

"Come _on_, guys, please!"

Alicia's voice can be heard from Derrick's locker, which is odd because she's not even in sight. Chris would know. He checked. She's not that hard to pick out of a crowd—there's something about her that's easy to find. She sounds like she's begging, though, and Chris realizes he doesn't like the way that sounds.

"I didn't peg her for the loud type," Derrick comments, counting quickly on his fingers. It's his own special way of figuring out if he has homework. Don't ask him to explain; he never does.

Cam shrugs. "She's tiny. Tiny people have big personalities."

Chris notices them as soon as they enter his line of vision. Skye's got her multi-colored-blonde hair in a messy braid, Alicia's hugging two textbooks to her chest, and Massie's biting her lip. He can't tell what they're arguing over, but Alicia looks sad and Skye has this expression of adamant determination.

"I wish she'd talk to me," Derrick says wistfully. Cam rolls his eyes and mouths, _He does this all the time_. Chris stifles a chuckle. "Ever since she cried on me, I feel like she's ignoring me."

"Well, you're not exactly friends…" Chris states bluntly.

"And you're not exactly friends with Massie!" Derrick shoots back, running a hand through his messy hair. "But you went off to act like Mr. Fucking Hero anyway."

"That's different."

"Different _how_?"

Chris opens his mouth to explain because he has a killer defensive argument, but Cam steps in, sighing and sound tired. "Can we _not_ fight over two girls we barely know?" he asks. "Especially if they're going to be passing us very soon? I'm not in the mood for this right now."

Derrick grumbles something, kicking a locker.

"…not going bowling, Leesh. We can do something else…"

_Bowling?_

If they're not exactly friends, Chris thinks, why not change that?

"You're going bowling?" he questions loudly.

All three girls stop and turn on their heel to look at him in such synchronization it freaks him out. Do they practice things like that? Honestly. It's like they're triplets or something.

Skye shakes her head. "No. We're not."

"But… _please_?" Alicia pouts.

"I hate bowling," her blonde friend explains with a sigh, as if she's always telling her this.

"Bowling's fun, though," Cam puts in. "I mean, it's more fun than anything we'd ever be doing tonight. I think you should go."

Skye glances at him, narrowing her eyes slightly as she looks him over. "I have nothing against bowling, Cam. I'm just a terror and should never be allowed near a bowling ball ever again."

"That was _one time_." Massie finally speaks up. She sounds tired. Chris feels bad that he hadn't had the opportunity to talk to her last night—he was kinda busy… Still, he offers up a slight smile when she catches her eye. She barely reciprocates.

"That guy went to the hospital!" exclaims the blonde, throwing her hands up in the air for emphasis. Chris hears Derrick laugh but he's too busy trying to figure out what possibly could be wrong with Massie to wonder what's so funny.

Did something happen at home? He knows he's not exactly close to her, but he knows enough to be aware—only slightly—of her personal situation, with her crazy mother (who most likely should be on antidepressants or bipolar medication or something) and her workaholic dad.

She'd tell him… right? Well, he hopes she would since he actually does care about her wellbeing. He wasn't kidding about that. He wants to be friends, even if he gets weird feelings and thoughts when they're alone. He wants to help… she could be the one to help him, too, if he only let her in.

It's hard to do that, though, and he feels even weirder that she didn't even let him in and he knows about her. If only Kristen weren't such a humongous bitch sometimes and left her mouth shut. Maybe then he'd be able to feel less uncomfortable.

"…so I apologized, right? And all he did was yell at me in German and stormed off to the nearest hospital." Skye sighs. "That's why I can't go bowling. I basically got kicked out of there for the rest of my life."

"Oh, shut up," Alicia teases, "there's more than one bowling alley in the vicinity and you weren't even kicked out. We left when we wanted to. No one cared. They _thanked_ you for getting rid of him." Turning to face the boys, she adds, "He was apparently the most annoying customer they've ever had with really weird requests. I wouldn't be surprised if they have a framed photo of Skye hanging on their wall."

"I wouldn't be surprised if anyone else did either…" Cam mutters under his breath, casting a quick look at Derrick.

Chris grins.

"Wait, seriously? You're _that _bad?" Derrick inquires, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't think it was possible for someone to bowl backwards."

Skye shoves him into the metal lockers. "And you're the god of bowling?"

"I'm not one to brag, but yes."

"I feel like that's the kind of story you can hear but you won't believe until you see it actually happen," Cam notes thoughtfully. "I would like to see you hit someone in the shin with a bowling ball. But only if you'd let me."

Skye looks murderous. Cam merely raises his hands up in surrender and shakes his head as if he means to say _no hard feelings? _

Chris watches Massie out of the corner of his eye, notices she's barely paying attention to the conversation, and that her face is pale again. Had she…? He swallows, hoping she didn't, before he opens his mouth to speak.

"Well, Alicia, if you want to go bowling and they don't, I'm pretty sure all three of us would go with you."

Cam nods enthusiastically. "Anything to avoid another awkward movie night at Dylan's!" He appears happier than he's ever been. "What time do you want to go? What alley? I'll walk there if I have to."

"That's not necessary, I'll drive," Derrick announces.

"Really?" Alicia asks, a faint pink coloring her cheeks.

"Yep," Chris responds. "I don't mind bowling and you sound like you really want to go…"

The Latina turns around and sticks her tongue out at her two friends. "At least _someone_ wants to go with me!" She grins in triumph.

Chris watches interestedly as Skye glances at Derrick and then back at Alicia repeatedly. He wouldn't have picked up on the action if Alicia hadn't told him and Cam that Skye had a crush on Derrick, but she did, so now he notices every little detail.

The blonde sighs in a way that makes him feel like she's just signed her death wish. "You can't just go alone…" she deliberates, making a face. "I guess I can potentially put another life in danger for you."

"Mass?" Alicia asks.

And for some reason, Chris feels a weird pull in his stomach, almost as if he's riding on Massie's answer. He wants her to go so badly so he can see her—and he's not sure why he's feeling this way.

Like Derrick said earlier, he barely knows her.

The brunette coughs, shrugging one shoulder. "I guess. I wasn't really against it in the first place."

"We're going to have to take two cars now," Derrick points out. "I mean, we could all squish into mine but it's not going to be comfortable…"

"It's cool. I'll take my car, too."

"I'm riding with Chris," Skye immediately announces. And when Derrick looks at her in confusion, she blushes a deep red and mumbles something about going home with Massie who would most likely be getting a ride with the boy in question anyway.

But Massie doesn't seem to hear her.

Chris lightly touches her shoulder. She jumps about three feet in the air, whipping her head around. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," he whispers. "I'm just… are you okay? You seem off."

She nods curtly. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a lot on my mind. Don't worry about me."

Chris stares at her, wants to say something else, something like _you can talk to me, you know_. He doesn't, however, and relents. Her excuse seems like a legitimate reason. He can't interrogate her for thinking, can he?

::

Chris hasn't been to this bowling alley since he was eleven—he thinks it's then, but he could be wrong—and he feels as if it hasn't changed at all. It's still as shiny as ever. The sounds are slightly soothing, even though he really doesn't know why.

The car ride over was awkward, to say the least. Anyone could tell that Skye was more than relieved to be away from Derrick and all he could hear was hushed conversations between Massie and Skye, even though Massie was sitting shotgun. Then, eventually, they fell into a routine of texting each other when they needed to say something they couldn't discuss in front of him.

He was tempted to tell them he didn't care if they talked about Derrick out loud—he wouldn't tell him anything. Unless Skye completely tore him to shreds, then Chris would most likely tell his best friend to drop his crush on her and leave it be.

But when they got there, things lightened up considerably.

Alicia grabs Skye's hand and pulls her off to get shoes. Cam watches her go, an expression on his face that Chris can't quite pinpoint.

"Dylan told me Kristen cancelled the dinners," Derrick begins, making a face. "What's that all about?"

Chris shrugs. "She said she thought they were boring or some shit yesterday. Stopped them completely. Not like I'm complaining."

"Best decision that girl's ever made." Cam salutes.

"I guess so."

"Well now it doesn't interfere with your sessions anymore," Derrick points out, casually glancing over at Massie. Chris rolls his eyes at him—they're all well-aware Massie knows he goes to the therapist. She did walk in on him. "How was it, by the way? He still being a douchebag?"

"I wouldn't know," Chris replies honestly. "I didn't go."

Massie frowns at him, but says nothing. Cam and Derrick do that for her: "_What_?"

"I had other… um, plans."

Derrick raises an eyebrow. "The dinners are cancelled. Besides, you never miss out on one of those."

"I figured getting in Kristen's pants was more important than therapy."

Cam blinks at him. "You're serious?"

"She finally decided to let you in?" Derrick looks incredulous. "Never would have expected that."

Massie looks pained and coughs awkwardly. "I'm… gonna go… over there." She points to where her friends are, hopping on one foot as they try to take their shoes off. Alicia almost falls over. "Bye."

She scurries off and Derrick watches her in amusement. "We probably should have waited until she left before we started discussing this."

Cam sighs, rubbing his face, ignoring Derrick's comment. "Are you serious right now, dude? Because Kristen doesn't look like the type to drop her pants. Ever. At all. In front of a boy, at least."

"Well, she did," Chris responds. "Even I was confused, but I wasn't going to test her."

The three of them started heading towards the shoe exchange. "So, like, how was it?" asks Derrick, pulling his shoe off.

"Um, normal?" Chris answers. "She seemed to like it…"

"Again, she doesn't seem like the girl to like sex." Cam slips the girl behind the counter a twenty, following his friends as they walk over to merge with the three other girls. Alicia's bouncing on her toes, Skye's scowling at the line of bowling balls she could choose from, and Massie's sitting idly, eyes set straight on the lane before her.

Chris shrugs. "Not complaining. Now Josh can't tease me endlessly, you know?"

"That got _so_ annoying," Derrick complains, lacing up his shoes. "It's not our faults that his girlfriend put out three months into the relationship sophomore year."

"Who?" Alicia asks, wrinkling her nose.

"Claire and Josh."

"Not classy." Skye shakes her head. "But what more do you expect? She's not exactly the epitome of sophistication."

Cam nods in agreement. "But that doesn't matter to him. He thinks that everyone's girlfriends should be putting out like his does. Or that we should at least be getting some from random girls at parties. Sorry, but I don't do that." He shrugs. "Not sure if it's because I'm old-fashioned, but I'd rather do it with someone I actually like, you know?"

Chris glances over at Massie again and really wants to ask her if she's _sure _she's okay, but before he can even move closer to her, Alicia opens her mouth and declares they start bowling.

They make Skye go first. The blonde glowers at them, but grabs a ball anyway, and throws it down the lane.

She actually _does _suck. Granted, she knocked down three pins, but it's a surprise she even managed to do that.

Alicia's better than she is and she kind of twirls around before tossing the ball gracefully. She explains to them afterwards that she's a dancer—jazz, tap, hip hop, ballet—and it makes things a little more fun.

By the time it's Derrick's turn to go, Chris' phone vibrates in his pocket and he stops paying attention.

_From: Kristen  
>Are you guys coming to Dylan's tonight? <em>

He looks around. His friends are legitimately enjoying themselves and even Massie stopped being antisocial to laugh at Derrick. He types out a response, telling her that they're probably not, sorry, and waits for her to answer.

_Why? _

_We're bowling. _

"Chris! You're up!"

He grabs the ball and, barely paying attention, manages to get most of the pins down in one shot. He can hear Skye complain that she's the only one who _can't _bowl to save her life and he grins, knocking the rest of them down in order to get a spare.

Upon sitting down, he grabs his phone again.

_Lmao seriously?_

He bites his lip and types back: _yes_. He's not going to lie to her.

She responds back so quickly he wonders if she was waiting for him to text her back. He barely notices Massie staring at him, too absorbed in his phone to pay her any attention.

_Why would you do that? That's so like middle school_

_You know how Derrick has that thing for Skye Hamilton? Her friend Alicia wanted to go bowling so he jumped on the bandwagon and dragged us along with him_

So it isn't exactly a lie… Derrick _does _like Skye and he did agree to go because she was going. Chris doesn't know why he's telling his girlfriend this because last time, Kristen flipped that he was carrying Massie Block's books to her class for her. He hopes she doesn't call him to yell.

"Skye really does suck," Chris says, turning to Massie.

She swallows her French fry before responding. "Yeah, but look. She's getting better."

It's true. She actually managed to get the ball to go in a straight line after Derrick told her to try following through afterwards. It's what they do in basketball. For some reason, it actually works.

"True. So… are you sure you're okay? You still seem out of it."

Massie rips up her napkin into tiny pieces. "I'm fine. Still have a lot on my mind."

"You can, um, tell me, you know," he says slowly. "I said I'd help you."

"Oh." Massie blinks. "I'm fine, though. Don't worry about me." She forces a smile but he's not convinced. "Really, Chris. It's cool. I don't need you all the time."

_You barely need me_, he thinks. For once, he wishes she would talk to him about what's bothering her, but she barely opens her mouth when she's uncomfortable with something. His phone vibrates again and he turns back to the conversation with his girlfriend.

_Aw I'm glad he finally decided to go after what he wants. I think they'd be cute. Have fun!_

Chris is majorly confused by her change in heart but doesn't push it. Instead, he responds again and they end up texting nonstop about all the things that Kristen's doing (Dylan's trying to force them to watch _Remember Me_ but Claire hates Rob Pattinson no matter what movie he's in).

He tells her that Derrick's been trying to teach Skye how to bowl for an hour but it's not really working. She thinks that's funny. He likes the way she's so cool with this right now. Maybe it's because he never mentioned Massie, but he doesn't know.

He's so absorbed in his conversation that he doesn't really hear Massie announce she's going to the bathroom, Alicia can play for her if she wants, she'll be right back. He doesn't realize all the French fries are gone and she drank her entire Sprite.

And when she returns, he doesn't realize she smells like that perfume she always wears and she's chewing two pieces of gum.


	11. eleven

**I feel like I've been gone forever. So many things are happening from school to my boyfriend to Classnight to drama club to all my college acceptances/financial aid packages... it's a lot to handle and I just want to go back to when I was a sophomore and didn't have to act so much like an adult. I'm also losing inspiration on almost everything I'm writing kdslfjdkfdfkjhd I suck hardcore. But this story is all pre-written and I should be churning out edited versions of these chapters soon. And another one of my stories should be updated too. Eventually.**

**Thank you for the reviews, guys. Do it again?**

* * *

><p><em>From: Massie<br>Can I ask you something?_

_From: Chris  
>Will it take long? I'm kinda busy<em>

_From: Massie  
>Never mind<em>

::

_From: Chris  
>Sorry, I was with Kristen, what'd you want to ask me?<em>

_From: Massie  
>Nothing<em>

_From: Chris  
>Are you sure<em>

_From: Massie  
>Yeah, don't sweat it<em>

::

Chris absolutely hates it when he has to stay after school for basketball practice. The more time he has to spend with Josh, the more he wants to kill himself. Ever since Kristen allowed the intimacy she was keeping from him for years, Josh has been all up in his face, questioning him about it. Constantly. He honestly wasn't- and will never be- in the mood to tell him all the details, but that's obviously what he wants.

He can't hide from him _anywhere_.

Coach is giving them shit for 'sucking' or something even though Chris knows he thinks they're in better shape than they were last year—which is saying a lot considering they had Cam's older brother, Harris, on the team. That kid was a _tank_. No lie.

"Do you think you'll score again the night of the Gala?" Josh whispers on his way past him to fetch himself a drink.

Chris rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to flip him off.

The Winter Gala is some stupid dance the school had been doing for years. The students must dress in "winter colors," whatever those are, and there are titles like Winter Princess that every popular girl yeans for. It's all really idiotic, but Kristen loves it and Chris goes every year. Everyone does. It's something to do. And someone spikes the punch anyways.

"Doubtful," he responds because Josh would get offended if he didn't.

Josh gives him that forced sad look of his. Chris could care less if he is upset for him. He doesn't think Kristen will ever let their relationship go that far again. It's surprising that she even let it happen the first time. But a second? He can only wish.

Coach blows his whistle and they all huddle together in the middle of the court. "We have a big game tomorrow, boys," he begins. "Against Greyson. And you know what happened last year…" His face contorts into one of disappointment. If Harris hadn't sprained his ankle, they totally would have had that game in the bag. They just weren't prepared.

"They creamed us," Landon Crane says bluntly. Coach glowers at him.

"Yes." He gives a curt nod. "In Landon's words, they _creamed_ us. Emphasis on the creamed. Remember that, boys." He pauses. "Knowing Greyson like I do—I have been coaching here for twenty years—they're probably assuming we still suck. That's not the case. I'd say we're a leg up. Even better than last year. _Don't _let that inflate your ego."

The only person that would let that get to their head is Josh and it doesn't even look like he's taking those words to heart. He was just as pissed as everyone else was when Greyson came back after halftime and dominated the court.

Coach notices this and grins triumphantly. "Alright. Take a break now. You deserve it."

Chris' main objective is to get himself something to eat because he's starving. Derrick and Cam don't want to come with him, opting to chug as much water and Gatorade as they can. This doesn't deter him, however, and he sets out on his search for some sort of cookie.

The hallway's silent as he moves through it. Why would anyone be in school anyway? It's five o'clock at night. In February. It's so dark it looks like it could be midnight. Sure feels like it, at least.

When he gets to the cafeteria, he notices someone extremely familiar waiting impatiently in front of the water bottle dispenser.

"Massie?" he calls.

The brunette turns stiffly but doesn't greet him at all. He assumes she's just tired. Or thinking. She's been acting really weirdly lately but he doesn't push her. She doesn't like that.

"What are you still doing here?"

"Art club with Skye," she answers. Her words are tight and clipped. "She asked me to stay. I did."

Chris presses the button for D-7, Sunchips. He changed his mind about the cookies. "What did you do for two hours then?"

"My homework."

"Oh." Chris opens his bag. "Chip?"

"No thank you."

He frowns. "Are you okay? Do you still need to ask me whatever you wanted to ask me? I'm sorry I couldn't talk, I was with Kristen…"

"I told you not to worry about it," she snaps. "I'm fine."

"But now I'm worried about it…"

"Too late." She turns on her heel to leave, but he reaches forward quickly and grabs her hand, pulling her back. She tries to get him to relinquish his grip. It doesn't work; he's stronger than her. "Chris. Let go of me."

"No." To prove his point, he tightens his hold. "I want to know what's wrong with you."

"What's _wrong with me_?" echoes Massie, jerking her hand. "Thanks for insinuating that I have a problem!"

"Th-that's not what I meant," he stammers. "I want to know why you're acting like this."

Massie snorts. "So now you have the time for me? You're too kind."

Chris groans loudly, letting go of her hand. "_This _is why I'm worried, Massie! You're acting so weird!" He catches her eye, but she looks away almost as soon as they meet. "And what do you mean I don't have time for you? I _always_ have time for you."

"That's such a lie."

"How am I lying? I meant what I said."

"A lot of people have told me that, Chris. So many of them say _we'd love to help, please let us_! And I say okay and they do the exact same thing as you." Massie shakes her head. "It's just a bunch of words they use to make themselves feel better. They don't intend on doing anything."

Chris doesn't get it. He wants to do something. He meant it. He wants to help her eat more and purge less, even if it means he has to eat with her… doesn't she get that? He's more than willing. "These aren't just _words _to me."

"What have you done to prove that?" she challenges.

And the thing is, he can't answer that.

"See?" she replies. "You're just like everyone else."

"Like hell I am," Chris retorts. "You don't know the first thing about me. How can you even say that?"

Massie crosses her arms over her chest. "I can say that because I've dealt with it. Eventually, you'll just stop acknowledging me altogether. Kristen doesn't even like me enough to let you be friends with me."

"This has nothing to do with Kristen."

"Oh, but it does."

"What are you _talking _about?" he asks in exasperation. It's like she's taking him around in circles. There has to be some way he can tell her that he actually fucking means it. Because he does. He actually fucking does.

She runs her hand through her hair and breathes slowly out of her nose. "Forget it. Just forget it."

Again, she turns around and he lets her walk away until he finally gets himself together again. "I don't know how to make you believe me!"

"I probably won't." She doesn't turn around. "Stop trying. It's useless at this point."

"I'm not—I'm not going to give up on this, Massie." He doesn't understand why he feels so desperate but he knows he can't just let her walk away from him like this. If she makes it through those doors right there, it's the end of everything. She can't go.

She remains rooted to the spot. "So what then?" she asks. Her voice cuts like a knife. "Are you going to say that you're helping me but ignore me entirely?"

"What—I'm not…"

"You are," she accuses. "Ever since Kristen opened her legs for you, that's all you've been doing. It's been _Kristen this, Kristen that _and I actually thought you were helping me. I _trusted _you. I don't know why I did, though, because I barely know you. I should have figured."

"You can trust me!"

He's shaken up now, fighting to keep himself from lashing out at her. She doesn't know the first thing him. He's… he's not like other people. He's so angry but at the same time he's really disappointed in himself. How could he let it get to this point? He admits she's right and that he hardly talks to her, but he's got other things to do…

_No._

He can't just let his relationship with his girlfriend interfere with the fact that he did offer to help Massie. So Kristen had sex with him. Okay. Awesome. Massie's condition is a little bit more serious than that.

"Debatable."

"Come on," he begs, grabbing her hand again. She refuses to look at him. _Ugh_. "I'm helping you. I really am."

Massie lets out a cold, sarcastic laugh that sends shivers up his spine. "If you were, then maybe you'd be able to tell that I've been getting worse rather than improving."

"What…?"

"I've eaten in front of you, Chris. _Right _in front of you. You've noticed the fact that there's something wrong with me, but you never really _pay _attention." She pauses, almost looking like she's trying to figure out if she should really be telling him all of this. Yes, he wants to tell her. Yes, she should. "I… I'll eat in front of you and then I'll leave five minutes later to use the bathroom. Do you not notice that?"

Chris furrows his eyebrows. "I do." It's true. He has. He's not lying about that. "But what does that…" And then it hits him. She's not _going _to the bathroom, she's... oh. Now he feels like shit. "Wait, so you're telling me that whenever you say you're going to the bathroom, you're…"

She shrugs. "Shit happens."

"No. Massie, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… after I promised I would help. No, after I _begged _you to let me help." He sighs, dragging a hand across his face. "I—it's all my fault."

"I'm not going to agree with that because you're not the one shoving your fingers down my throat."

He doesn't understand how she can talk about this so nonchalantly, like it's not a deadly eating disorder that could potentially damage her life if not fixed early enough. But she does anyway and it makes him uncomfortable.

"But…"

"Don't worry about it. I'm fine. I don't need your help."

"No!" he all but shouts. "I said I was going to help you get through this and I meant it. I'm not one to back out on things like this."

Massie shakes her head, her hair falling on her shoulders. "You have Kristen to worry about, Chris. Not me. Don't let me ruin your relationship because I can't stop myself."

He takes her hands in his, intertwining their fingers, and forces her to look at him. When her eyes meet his, he feels his heart jump slightly in his chest. Licking his lips awkwardly, he finally says, "Listen, Kristen doesn't matter right now. You won't be ruining anything. She'll understand. I'm _going _to help you. Do you hear me?"

She just smiles a little sadly at him. "Has anyone ever told you how oblivious you are?" She walks away shortly after that, leaving him extremely confused—but the one thought that stands out the most is that he _really_ wishes he could hold her hand again.

::

"Dude, what took you so long? Weren't you just getting a cookie or some shit?"

Derrick's sitting on the ground, back up against the bleachers, stretching his legs out before Coach calls them back to practice one last time. Cam is still drinking his water. Chris shrugs, aware that he left his snack in the middle of the cafeteria, but he could care less about eating right now.

What had Massie meant when she said he was oblivious? He isn't… is he? What does that even really mean? He's never been called that before. Well, maybe the time for someone to call him that has never come up until now. But still—he doesn't understand why she would even think to use that to describe him.

All he wants to do is help. Kristen will get over it. He's definitely not the center of her world therefore she doesn't have to be main focus of his. She's got all those clubs and shit. He has his unstable family and therapy… and now helping Massie beat her bulimia. Which he'll do. He's not going to let her do that on her own.

"Hello? Earth to Chris!"

He jumps. "Huh? Oh. Sorry. I just saw Massie before, that's why I took a while. We were… talking."

Cam finally puts his bottle down and swallows. "Massie?"

"Yeah, she was here because Skye is. Art club or something like that." Chris could barely remember.

"Skye's here?" Derrick perks up considerably.

Chris nods. "Doing art. Don't bother her. You know how she gets."

They made the mistake of talking to her while she was finishing an art project last week. Cam had suggested they get something at The Cup after school. So they all piled in at one table and Skye took out her sketchbook. No one warned them that she would treat them like the dirt on the bottom of her shoes while she was drawing. They learned quickly, however, and figured that it was no good to ever try to be civil to her during that time.

"Right." Derrick sighs shakily. "That was a terrible experience."

"You're telling me," his best friend agrees. "I thought she was going to rip my neck off."

"Speaking of those two," Cam starts off slowly, "I think I'm gonna ask Alicia to go to the Gala with me."

"Seriously?" Derrick questions, reaching over to touch his toes. "That's cool. Go for it."

Cam chews on his lower lip. "You think?"

"Yeah." Chris sends him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure she'll say yes."

"Okay. Cool." Cam rubs the back of his neck and turns away, leaving Chris to his own thoughts again.

There is no way he's even the closest thing to oblivious. He knows a lot about things and he's very observant. Sometimes.

When Coach eventually calls them back to work on their plays, Chris' game is completely off.

::

That night, Chris has a nightmare.

He's back at his old house and he's anticipating it to be like every other dream he has. But as he's walking through the house, he sees something different. Not only is it his sister stuck inside, it's Massie too.

She's a wreck: all skin and bones. She looks like she's going to drop dead any second and it worries him. No. It _scares _him.

She and Sammi are both in the same hallway, just the way it was when it happened. The foundation's loose and full of flames; it's shaking as the rest of the fire takes over the house. It's going to fall, he knows it, and both girls are beneath it.

He knows deep down that he can only save one of them, but he doesn't know which one. Sammi's his sister and Massie's his… Massie's his something. He doesn't know but he knows he can't just leave her either.

Sammi's small hand wraps around his larger one and he leans over roughly to grab Massie's in order to pull her out of the way. Once he gets ahold of her, however, his sister slips out of his grasp.

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest rapidly. He can see the scene before him so quickly—the way the boards will fall on her, suffocating, burning, _killing _her. They should fall now… shouldn't they?

But they don't. They stay up for a second longer. Long enough for Sammi to look up at him with those big green eyes of hers and say: "It's okay, Chris." Her voice is just as childish and tiny as it always is, but it sounds a little more mature, a little more grown up. "You can save her. I'll… I'll be okay."

He wakes up screaming.


End file.
